


let's do it

by suzukiblu



Series: Avamorphs [1]
Category: Animorphs - Katherine A. Applegate, Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Humor, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Sibling Incest, but for obvious reasons I'm tagging for it anyway, kind of not really incest, look AUs are complicated
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-26
Updated: 2019-12-26
Packaged: 2021-02-26 08:28:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21966409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suzukiblu/pseuds/suzukiblu
Summary: “What?” Toph asks uneasily, her grip on Aang’s arm tightening. “What is it? Itsoundsweird.”“It’s a UFO,” Aang says, and wonders if maybe their parents were right about how they shouldn’t have cut through the construction site all those times.And then the UFO opens and this . . .thingcomes out. This weird, pretty, graceful thing like a centaur and a deer and a Kool-Aid dye job all shook up together with a long tail tossed on—a tail with ascorpionblade ohcrap.“Oh no,” Lee says, and Sokka says something that involves alotmore curse words and a lot of creative applications of them and a lot less sense.
Relationships: Aang/Katara (Avatar), Azula/Zuko (Avatar), Mai/Zuko (Avatar), Sokka/Suki (Avatar), Ty Lee/Zuko (Avatar)
Series: Avamorphs [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1581343
Comments: 21
Kudos: 312





	let's do it

**Author's Note:**

> Not quite a proper fic, but a repost of a bunch of old comment-fics from waaaay back in the day on LJ, when I was obsessed with fusion fic and determined to bring all my followers down with me. Side stories and sequel to follow.

“Oh, wow,” Aang says. _“Wow.”_

“We should go,” Lee says, staring at the thing. 

“Yeahhh, yeah we should,” Sokka says, although he’s the one who actually _moves_ —he grabs Katara and Suki both by an arm and pulls, backing up fast. Neither of them moves with him, though. 

“What?” Toph asks uneasily, her grip on Aang’s arm tightening. “What is it? It _sounds_ weird.” 

“It’s a UFO,” Aang says, and wonders if maybe their parents were right about how they shouldn’t have cut through the construction site all those times. 

And then the UFO opens and this . . . _thing_ comes out. This weird, pretty, graceful thing like a centaur and a deer and a Kool-Aid dye job all shook up together with a long tail tossed on—a tail with a _scorpion_ blade oh _crap_. 

“Oh no,” Lee says, and Sokka says something that involves a _lot_ more curse words and a lot of creative applications of them and a lot less sense. 

And then the thing falls down, and they can see the ugly, deep burn gouged into its side. 

“We have to help it!” Katara blurts immediately, leaping forward, and Aang can’t let her go alone and Sokka never would either and of _course_ Suki’d follow Sokka and Toph’s holding onto Aang as her eyes and Lee, well, somewhere in the confusion he just gets swept up into the knot and then they’re all practically tripping over each other as they skid to a clumsy halt in front of the . . . the . . . the _alien_. 

Because that’s what it is. 

It’s an alien. 

“We can help!” Katara exclaims quickly, dropping to her knees in front of the alien, holding up her hands in a show of peace. She’s crazy, Aang decides, and the _greatest_ girl in the world. No one else would come up on an alien with a huge, evil-looking knife for a tail and have their first impulse be to try to _help_ it. 

< You cannot, > the alien says, except it doesn’t actually say it. But Aang _hears_ it. 

“Oh _man_ ,” Sokka groans. 

< This wound is fatal, > the alien says seriously, its large golden eyes solemn and luminous. His eyes. It _sounds_ like a him, anyway, and Aang can’t think of it as an “it” after it’s spoken. He’s spoken. < I will die. >

“But you can’t,” Aang says inanely, feeling like there’s a wound in _him_ at the thought. “You’re the first alien to come here, you can’t _die_.” 

< I am not the first, > the alien tells them. 

“There’s more of you?” Toph demands, tensed up and wary—she can’t see the alien, but she can hear it just the same way the rest of them are/aren’t, the words fed right into their _heads_. Aang still can’t decide if this is amazing or awful. 

< Not more of me. Different. >

“What do you mean ‘different’?” Aang asks. 

< They have come to destroy you. >

That part kind of puts a downer on the rest of the conversation. 

So Prince Iroh-Azulon-Sozin gives them the power to fight back. 

Then they have to decide if they want to. 

.

.

.

The other ship starts coming down and the rest of them run for their stupid _lives_ , but Lee is screwed up and _crazy_ and just stays, staring down at the Andalite and then up at the ship coming down out of the sky like a deer in the headlights. Sokka skids to a stop, _cursing_ the idiot and his idiot self, and turns the fastest one-eighty in the history of _ever_ to grab him by the collar. 

Right before he gets there, the Andalite touches Lee’s head, and Lee jerks back like he just got hit. 

Sokka’s brain comes up with a lot of freaktastic reasons to panic over this, but Sokka’s hand just grabs Lee’s shirt and yanks him off the ground and then they’re running—or Sokka’s running, anyway, and Lee’s stumbling along almost fast enough to keep up. Kind of. Sort of. 

Man, they are so never taking this shortcut again. 

And then Ozai Three steps out of the ship, and Sokka discovers that the second-worst day of his life is just getting started. 

.

.

.

Zuko Five Three Three stares at his host’s cat and wonders what in the name of the Kandrona he’s doing not reporting to Ozai Three _right now_. At least Azula Eight Nine Five. Zhao Two Four Six—well, no, not Zhao Two Four Six. But _someone_. 

Actually, he wonders why he let the human brother pull him away from Prince Iroh-Azulon-Sozin to begin with, when he should’ve stayed right there, waited for the Bug Fighters to land, and told them exactly where the human children were hiding and exactly what power that foolish, desperate prince had given them. Gaining the power to morph directly from the legendary Prince Iroh? Gaining that power _and_ immediately delivering an additional five hosts with the _same_ power, and on top of that the cube that could give it to as many of their hosts as they so chose? 

“Promotion” doesn’t even _begin_ to cover what the Council of Thirteen would’ve given him. 

Except the Andalite threw knowledge into his host’s brain, thinking he was just a stupid human child, and it’d disoriented him enough to let the brother drag him off and then . . . well. 

He’d like to say it was the disorientation that kept him from coming out and had him scattering with the humans like one of them, but . . . 

He’s not sure what it was, actually. 

Maybe it was his host. Maybe Prince Iroh’s interference, all that stuffed-in knowledge, maybe it threw off his connection to it and—

< It wasn’t, > his host says. Its mental voice is mostly toneless, like usual—it’s an odd one, his host. Voluntary, but not always _voluntary_ about it. 

< It wasn’t _me_! > Zuko hisses. His host’s cat yawns. 

< Okay. So that’s both of us down; must’ve been door number three. >

< What? > Zuko asks, distracted for a moment to check the meaning of the phrase in his host’s memories—door number three = game show reference = third option to choose from. < There _is_ no third— >

< Dude’s getting away, > his host says. Zuko curses and dives for the thing, and the cat _mrowls_ and tries to claw his host's body up but the Andalite’s knowledge is in his head— _and the Andalite’s memories of things it had missed, things it had been trying not to think of but had sent accidentally, blue-green grass and the feeling of running across it and the trees, the beautiful trees and the way the light hit the—_

Zuko loses himself, and his host croons the cat into submission and strokes its ruffled fur and concentrates the way the Andalite’s knowledge said to. The cat purrs, and calms. 

By the time Zuko can think properly again, they already have fur. 

.

.

.

“Agh,” Katara says as her knees reverse direction, which surprisingly enough doesn’t hurt—although falling forward and hitting her palms hard against the ground does. Apparently Andalites have something in place to deal with that kind of thing. 

Thank _God_ , because this is already crazy enough as it is. 

“That looks . . . um,” Suki says, wincing, and then yelps as Katara’s face bulges out into a snout. 

“I’m lucky I’m blind, huh,” Toph says from the other side of the barn, busy eating her share of the Chinese takeout they had delivered at the house. Probably she’s going to be eating _all_ of it, actually, because barbeque pork doesn’t smell that good to a horse’s nose and Suki’s looking pretty repulsed. Katara understands the feeling. 

“Yeahhh, yeah you are,” Suki mutters, covering her eyes with one hand and not _quite_ peering through her fingers at Katara. “Ooo. Ooo, that looks . . . _ooo_.” 

“Hhhherks,” Katara mutters, although the word doesn’t even sound _slightly_ clear. Then she squeaks in surprise as something _very_ odd happens at the base of her spine and spins around just in time to catch sight of herself growing a _tail_ oh _man_ that is weird. That is really, really weird. 

_“Ooo,”_ Suki groans, and Katara’s tail flicks. 

“Nooot even gonna ask,” Toph snorts, stuffing an egg roll into her mouth whole. “Man, I can hear the creepy squelchy-crunchy noises from _here_.” 

“I’m going to have _nightmares_ ,” Suki mutters, already looking a little ill again and pushing her own food away. 

< You think _you’re_ going to have nightmares? > Katara says, and then, well, then she’s a horse. Which is . . . huh. 

Not what she would’ve expected, actually. 

“So who gets the first ride?” Toph asks, smirking. 

.

.

.

“Don't worry, Sokka, where we're going you won't need any pants!” Aang says cheerfully as he collapses onto Sokka’s mess of a bed. 

“I fail to see the comfort in this,” Sokka says, eyeing him in return. “Also? That is a _lie_ , because where we are going is the _zoo_ and the zoo is definitely a place where we need pants.” 

“Well, okay, we’ll need pants for a _little_ while but not too long,” Aang admits. “Then it’s Spandex and Lycra all the way! Like superheroes!” 

“Like the worst superheroes _ever_. Seriously, we don’t even match,” Sokka retorts in exasperation as he rummages through his sock drawer in hopes of finding spare change. He’s looked pretty much everywhere else in his room and he _still_ needs another two bucks to afford admission for The Gardens—and he really, really does _not_ want to ask his dad for the money. 

Even less does he wants to ask _Katara_ for it. She might tell Bato and Gran-Gran, for one. 

“We could get something matching,” Aang suggests helpfully, grinning over at him. “How about orange?” 

“Just . . . no. _No_.” 

.

.

.

“This is stupid,” Toph says halfway into her first morph. Which, being Toph, of _course_ she’s picked an elephant for, despite Katara suggesting several smaller options in the barn. But obviously Toph wouldn’t listen to her, it’s not as if she knows _anything_ about animals after a lifetime spent taking care of—

Then Toph starts _screaming_. 

“Toph?! Toph, what’s _wrong_?!” Katara cries, but Toph won’t—stop— _screaming_ , oh God oh God, Katara thinks desperately as she grabs onto the other girl and Toph just recoils, screaming louder, and _Bato_ will hear and what is it, what’s happened, what’s _wrong_? It wasn’t like this for her! It was fine for her! 

“Morph back!” Lee shouts, grabbing Toph’s leathery gray wrists, and Toph just won’t stop _screaming_ and Katara doesn’t know what to _do_ and—“Morph _back_!” 

Toph does, and then keels over unconscious in Lee’s arms. 

“Oh God,” Katara says, “oh God oh God she’s—”

“She’s fine,” Lee says. “I think her eyes just turned on. It happens sometimes, when you morph into something with a sense your brain can’t process.” 

“What?” Katara asks blankly, staring at him and . . . what on earth is Lee saying, he’s talking like he _knows_ — 

“Uh. Iroh told me some stuff,” Lee mutters, not looking at her as he scoops Toph up and carries her to the table to lay her out across it. She’s so small. So thin and small and they’re—how are they supposed to _do_ this, Toph’s so thin and _small_ and she’s just twelve years old and so’s Aang and _she’s_ just fourteen and—

_“When?”_ Katara demands incredulously. 

“Um. When you guys ran, and I stayed . . .” Lee hesitates, then just shakes his head. “It’s . . . it was like a thought-bomb. It’s still kinda knotted up in my head, but . . . yeah. He told me some stuff.” 

“So she . . . she could see?” Katara asks, looking down at Toph with a faint frown. “And it hurt her?” 

“Pretty much,” Lee says, and Katara doesn’t know what to think of that. 

It’s . . . not exactly the kind of danger she was expecting. 

.

.

.

“Your grandfather’s a Controller,” Toph says matter-of-factly, and Sokka chokes on his mouthful of chips and Aang turns an incredulous look on her. 

_“What?”_ he says. 

“Grandpa Gyatso,” Toph clarifies, popping a chip into her own mouth. “He’s a Controller. You guys heard how he was talking, right? All concerned about what we were all doing last night all of a sudden when all you’ve been talking about for like three _months_ is how weird and distant he’s been acting?” 

“Oh crap,” Sokka says, and Aang’s fists clench in anger, his face twisting up ugly in an unfamiliar way. 

“Take it back,” he hisses. 

“Why?” Toph snorts. “Hell, I’d be _happy_ if _my_ parents were Controllers, I’d feel a lot better about what crappy excuses for human beings they are.” 

“Toph—” Sokka starts, but not fast enough. 

“Take it _back_!” Aang yells, and lunges for her, and for such a peace-and-love little bastard he’s really—well, let’s just say Aang is the _last_ person Sokka ever thought he’d have to haul off Toph. 

Then again, it _is_ Toph, so Aang looks a lot worse-off than she does when Sokka actually manages to get them separated. 

“He’s _not_!” Aang shouts angrily, trying to fight free of Sokka’s arms. 

“Wise _up_ , Twinkletoes!” Toph shouts back at him, just as angry and rubbing at her rapidly-bruising jaw as she kicks out in the direction of his voice. Sokka manages to swing Aang out of the way, but takes the hit in his own thigh and yelps in pain—Toph kicks like a damn _piston_. 

Seriously, he has no _idea_ how her parents think she’s delicate. 

Or how he’s going to smooth this over before the Controller downstairs comes up to see what all the fuss is about. 

.

.

.

Gyatso has had three different Yeerks in his head in the three months since he was infested, and has never fought a one of them. He is not voluntary: he leaves the infestation pier under his own power, but he always walks to the cages, not the couches and tables set up for collaborators.

He has never fought.

But he has gone through three different Yeerks in three months, in the midst of a population explosion where every Yeerk connives and clamors for a permanent host of their own, and none of those Yeerks have taken human hosts since.

.

.

.

“Wait, you think The Sharing is _what_?” Katara asks Sokka incredulously while Zuko Five Three Three is busy having a heart attack. 

“Uh. A Yeerk front. Like, for recruiting hosts,” Sokka clarifies sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Aang’s grandpa, he was acting kind of weird about trying to get us to go, and he’s there all the _time_ now . . .”

“We don’t _know_ that!” Aang snaps, jerking his head away. “It’s just—it’s like the Boy Scouts or something, that’s all, it’s just a stupid _club_!” The rest of the group falls weirdly silent, and then all at once look at Zuko. Who looks down at his host’s chest, and realizes he picked the worst T-shirt _possible_ to wear today. 

“Um,” he says, wishing he had a Dracon beam very, very badly. “Well, I didn’t think it was _that_ stupid.” 

“Oh, Lee . . .” Suki trails off helplessly, just staring at his shirt and the logo printed across it in big, dark blue letters: THE SHARING. 

“You’re a _member?_ ” Toph demands. “A member of the crazy evil aliens’ host-recruiting front? Since when?!” 

“I don’t know, a couple months?” Zuko tries awkwardly, internally panicking. Dammit dammit _dammit_ —“It was Ty Lee’s idea, she wanted to do more ‘couple stuff’,” his host says. 

“They don’t do anything weird?” Katara asks warily, tucking her hair behind her ears. 

“No weirder than any of the _other_ couple stuff she’s wanted to do,” his host says. 

“. . . yeahhhh, she is kinda . . . New Age-y,” Suki says delicately, glancing up towards the ceiling to avoid eye contact. 

“Also _crazy_ ,” Sokka puts in helpfully, not avoiding eye contact at all. 

“Hey!” Zuko protests with a scowl. 

“Don’t hate the messenger, man. Anyway, this is good!” Sokka declares firmly, pointing at Zuko. “Inside man! You can get us in, then we can check it out, see what’s what, figure out what the higher-ups are up to!” 

“I . . . guess?” Zuko attempts by way of response, and honestly can’t figure out if he’s the luckiest bastard ever grubbed or the _un_ luckiest. They’re practically _volunteering_ to get caught; he couldn’t have come up with a better plan than “walk into a room full of Controllers and start asking suspicious questions” _himself_. 

Which is a good thing. Maybe the Andalite filth’s memories will shut up once these idiot humans get themselves caught—surely even memory implants can’t blame _him_ for the stupidity of children. 

It _is_ a good thing. 

So why is his first instinct to protest? 

. . . no. That’s not the question he wants to ask. 

The question he wants to ask is: why didn’t any of them _doubt_ him, even for an instant? 

.

.

.

“. . . Katara? You remember that voice at the construction site that said ‘just save the head’?” Sokka asks from the next desk over, really slowly and really _quietly_ —they sit alphabetically in homeroom. 

“How could I _forget_?” Katara asks, giving him a disbelieving look. That was the second-worst night of her life. She couldn't forget if she _tried_. 

“Yeah, I, uh. I just heard that voice again.” 

“What are you—” Katara starts, and then she hears it too: Vice Principal Choi, reading the morning announcements. Her heart stops. “Oh God.” 

“Yeah, well. I always knew the guy was evil,” Sokka says, giving her a weak, terrified grin. “I just figured it was out of, you know, _spite_.” 

.

.

.

Zuko Five Three Three is up high above the Yeerk pool, flying under sheer muscle power and nothing else and looking down at his people as they squirm in the sludge, as they rise _above_ the sludge in their hosts. It’s soothing, in a way, or it would be if he hadn’t come down here with a bunch of clearly suicidal human kids intent on blowing the place up. 

The humans didn’t know, though. They pictured something small, something swimming pool-sized at worst, and of course “Lee” wasn’t going to tell them any different. 

They’re afraid now, which is good. Afraid means they can be convinced to surrender rather than fight to the death, and surrender means they will be good, valuable hosts. Zuko hesitated to turn them in—with that Andalite filth’s thoughts all cluttering up his host’s too-small human brain, of _course_ he’d hesitate, he could hardly even properly _think_ for days—but now his mind is clear and now they’ve come to “attack” and now is the cleanest time to do it, when there cannot possibly be any more unexpected witnesses to make trouble. 

Out of habit, he coasts in search of Azula Eight Nine Five. She is his immediate superior and she is supposed to be at the pool tonight—not to feed, but Ozai Three is due to make inspection soon and they must be certain that everything is in order. It’s natural to report to her. He glimpses the younger human male’s grandfather on the dock, being led to the cages and wearing a terrible, _serene_ expression—and for a moment there’s something _about_ that expression, and he nearly flies into the roof trying to figure out what it is. 

< He’s fighting, > his host says sleepily. Zuko’s host sleeps a lot, these days; it’s actually spoken to him more in the week since the Andalite stirred up its brain than it had in the preceding _month_. 

< His Yeerk is in the pool, > he says. < There’s nothing for him to fight. >

< You don’t have to be in their heads for them to fight you, > his host retorts dismissively, and then resettles its consciousness and starts to drift away again. Zuko is about to shake it back awake, but that’s when he finally spots Azula Eight Nine Five speaking to a small group of Hork-Bajir and Taxxons he recgonizes as Ozai Three’s advance guard. He’s due sooner than Zuko expected, then. Best to get this over and done with before he does; he can point out the appropriate humans to Azula Eight Nine Five and the guards will have them before they even have time to morph, quick and clean and a tidy gift to present to Ozai Three when he arrives. The timing’s just shy of perfect. 

Zuko flies towards Azula Eight Nine Five, preparing to announce himself and explain, and then the Hork-Bajir she is speaking to turns to look at the pool and this time he _does_ fly into the roof and it’s only a _miracle_ that he doesn’t smash his little-bird body to pieces. As it is, he still nearly falls out of the air and has to catch himself on a stalactite with his talons. 

Which is foolish, really. It’s just his former host, there’s nothing to be so shaken by. It’s a little strange, but that’s not—

And then the human sister is dragged through his line of vision by the police officer who’d suspected her. Zuko startles; she is kicking and fighting and _thrashing_ and shouting at him, but that makes her no different from any other involuntary host down here and for the _oddest_ moment he thinks she was already a Controller and he was not the only one to hesitate. But of course she wasn’t—the officer came straight from the entrance and is pulling her towards the infestation pier. 

It’s . . . it’s still an odd moment, though. 

He almost saw them as on the same side, for that moment. 

< _Lee!_ > The brother. < Lee, they have Katara, we can’t _morph_ fast enough! >

Zuko blinks, and loops a circle above the top of the pool. The sister is still fighting, scratching and kicking and _biting_ , even, so clearly outmatched but still struggling. As if it would matter, even if she got away from one human-Controller in a place _teeming_ with Hork-Bajir and Taxxons? 

< _LEE!_ >

< Yeah, > Zuko’s host says, and their wings snap shut and they _dive_. Zuko’s talons are full of shreds of human face before he can even _begin_ to lunge for control and the human sister— _Katara_ —bolts down the pier and the human-Controller falls into the pool screaming and Azula Eight Nine Five’s head snaps around and then there’s an elephant kicking open the cages and things more or less go to hell from there. 

< You stupid _human_ , they could _execute_ us for that! > Zuko rages at his host, his host that’s alive and sharp and _real_ in a way it’s never been before, and it laughs and says, < But didn’t it feel _perfect_?! >

It did. Zuko wants to argue, but it really, really did. 

He can’t _imagine_ a worse reason to betray his people than “it felt good”. 

< Stop it, > he hisses at his host, forcing it down, but for once it doesn’t yield. 

< Fight, fight! Come on, _fight_! > it shouts at him, and Zuko remembers a bladed body and how _good_ it felt to be inside it, remembers darting razor-sharp and light through enemy warriors and coming back the victor and—< I want to _FIGHT_! >

He does too. 

He does so _badly_. 

< No. >

< _Yes!_ >

< _NO!_ >

The morphed humans are fighting their way up the stairs, a disturbing amount of freed hosts and the younger male’s grandfather in tow—the brother’s not with them, he’s trapped back by the cages, wolfdog-teeth and claws wet with Hork-Bajir blood and Taxxon slime. Zuko dismisses him; he’s trapped, he will die. Even if he could break away and get to the stairs it’s already clogged with too many chasing Controllers for him to—

And then Ozai Three appears out of the chaos, and starts to morph. 

Zuko’s host _moans_. 

< Oh please, > it says, < oh please oh please oh please oh _please_ — >

Zuko has never heard a human beg for the right to fight before. Zuko has never heard _his_ human beg for _anything_. He has to go years and years back into its memories to even get close. 

< You’re insane, > he tells it, and then a Dracon beam nearly takes off their tail and he tears through the air to escape the follow-up fire, cursing to himself. It drives him back towards the cages, the screaming hosts still trapped in the intact ones, the snarling wolfdog morph that is the brother, and all he can think is _why are they even FIGHTING?_ His people have greater numbers, greater technology, _all_ the advantages, and these are just human children. Not soldiers, not warriors; just children. 

. . . children raised by men who have terrible, serene eyes. Children trembling in fear and hiding in the bodies of better creatures and fighting tooth and _nail_ to drag themselves up and out and into the light, above the sludge— 

Zuko reels so hard he nearly hits the wall, but it saves him from another Dracon beam and the air _sizzles_ and on the stairs the leopard roars and the horse whinnies and the elephant trumpets and the bison bellows and below him the wolfdog-brother throws his head back and howls and—and—

And the hawk _screams_ , and dives for the eyes of the Taxxon attacking the wolfdog.

.

.

.

Turns out, tossing aliens around is fun. Fighting in _general_ , in fact, is fun. 

No, fun doesn’t cover it. This—this is _love_. This is what love was, all those times people tried to describe it to her, this is pure and solid as stone and _unstoppable_ , and it has nothing ugly or guilty or limiting in it. It represses nothing. It ruins nothing. 

It is, and it is _not_ sorry for what it is. 

Toph’s never felt anything like this. Even the parts that hurt, even the overwhelming blur of sight, even thrashing and screaming monsters and screams of fear and terror and _pain_ — 

They escape the Yeerk pool with exactly one freed host. 

And they don’t _all_ escape. 

Toph spends the whole night on the bathroom floor, vomiting and praying. 

.

.

.

Grandpa Gyatso always says life is precious and death is a weight you carry—and if you don’t want that weight, if you don’t want someone’s life and everything they were responsible for and everything they were ever meant to _be_ responsible for, then you don’t _take_ it. 

Except Grandpa Gyatso isn’t the one saying those things anymore. 

After the Yeerk pool, Aang cries himself to sleep and wakes up in tears again and can’t get the blood off and can’t forget the feeling of trampling smaller bodies underneath his hooves, can’t forget the sound of crunching bone echoing through his skull when he charged Hork-Bajir Controllers, the stink of Taxxon flesh gored open by his horns. Bison don’t have very good eyes, but their sense of _smell_ . . .

Burning flesh. There was so, so much burning flesh. 

He remembers Sokka’s wolfdog-howls, Suki’s leopard-roars, Lee’s hawk-shrieks, Toph’s elephant-bellows, Katara’s . . . Katara’s . . . 

Aang didn’t know horses could scream, before the Yeerk pool. Aang didn’t know what horses’ flesh smelled like when it _burned_ before the Yeerk pool. 

One human. They had saved one human, one woman who’d rode up out of Hell with them clinging to Katara’s neck, riding her back, and that was it. They hadn’t saved Grandpa Gyatso. 

They’d gotten a lot of people killed, though. Oh, they’d _definitely_ done that. 

Before they’d gone down Lee’d said, with a weird look in his eye, _“Live free or die.”_ It’d . . . Aang wants to say it’d helped. He really does. 

He can’t imagine anything that could, though. 

One human. 

One human, in exchange for one of _them_. 

But saving that one human . . . that's the only thing that's helped, so far.

.

.

.

Aang jerks awake to a scratching at his bedroom window—for a moment, in his mind, it’s Taxxon claws and they’ve _found him_ —but it’s too quiet for that many legs. He still almost vomits again at the memories. 

< Aang? C’mon, man, I can hear you in there, are you awake or— >

The relief is enough to _drown_ in, and Aang’s out of bed and across the room in a heartbeat, yanking the window open. 

_“Sokka!”_ he practically sobs, and the other vaults in out of the bushes in wolfdog morph and shakes dead leaves and twigs out of his fur and all over the bedroom floor but Aang doesn’t care, he doesn’t care even a _little_ —“We thought you were _dead_!” he cries out, throwing himself to his knees and throwing his arms around the other’s neck. 

< What, are you kidding? > Sokka snorts dismissively, scratching behind his ear with a hind leg. < You got anything to eat, I’m _starving_. >

“There’s a Snickers bar in my--” Aang starts, leaning towards his backpack, but Sokka interrupts. 

< Yeahhh, no, no chocolate. > Sokka sniffs the air, licking his muzzle. < Guess meat’s too much to hope for, huh? >

“We’ve got leftover eggplant casserole in the fridge—you morph back, I’ll be right back!” Aang says quickly, so relieved to see Sokka alive and alright that he’s already out the bedroom door and halfway to the stairs before he’s even finished talking. The way Katara had looked when they'd realized they’d lost Sokka in the escape, that he’d just _disappeared_ —and it’d been _his_ plan, Aang’s plan, and he’d been so afraid that he’d gotten Sokka _killed_ and how could he ever, ever forgive himself for that? 

How could he ever apologize enough to _Katara_ for that?

But Sokka’s okay, Sokka’s alive and Sokka’s _Sokka_ , demanding food and meat and taking over the room at the first given opportunity and . . . and . . . 

_What’s he doing here this late?_

Aang blinks at the microwave as it beeps, unsure why the thought stabs into him so sharp and _urgent_. There’s a thousand reasons Sokka would come over this late, there’s—

_But which one IS it?_

He puts the casserole on a plate, grabs a fork and knife, and heads upstairs, frowning to himself and still trying to figure out where that bad _feeling_ is coming—

He opens his bedroom door. 

Sokka hasn’t demorphed. 

“. . . what are you waiting for?” Aang asks inanely, and wants so, so badly not to make the connection. 

.

.

.

Katara’s burrowed into Aang's bed and still crying. Sokka’s next to her, just existing. He licked the tears off her face a few times, but that wasn’t a very human thing to do and it just made her cry harder, so now all he’s doing is just staying curled up against her. He thinks it’s probably not helping with the crying either, but when he tried to scoot away before she pulled him back. 

She isn’t holding onto him anymore, she’s just curled up and crying, but . . . yeah. Well, it’s something. 

Not really something. 

< Katara. Katara, come on, > he says, nosing her shoulder because it _hurts_ to hear her like this, hurts to smell the tears and the grief and the _pain_ all so heavy and intense on her. She’s his sister. She’s his little sister, his _baby_ sister, she shouldn’t have to fight a _war_ and she shouldn’t have to feel like this. Not again. < Katara, please, I’m _okay_. I’m right here. >

“What am I going to _tell_ them?” Katara sobs, wrapping her arms around him and burying her face in his fur. “Sokka, what am I going to _say_?” 

< You don’t have to say anything. No one’s going to notice until Monday. Maybe not even then, not like I’ve never cut school before, right? > Sokka says, nuzzling into her. < You’ve got the whole weekend to get it together. >

“What are you _talking_ about, Sokka, Dad’s gonna call the police as soon as he wakes up and realizes you didn’t come _home_ last night!” Katara protests tearfully, shaking her head. 

< Yeahhh. That won’t be tomorrow, > Sokka mutters, giving her another nuzzle. He doesn’t want to tell her this, but she’s going to find out. 

“Of _course_ it’ll—”

< No, it won’t. >

“But . . . what do you mean?” Katara tries awkwardly, her hand stilling on his back. Sokka automatically licks her cheek to soothe her, but she stiffens so he doesn’t think it works. 

< Dad won’t notice. He doesn’t even talk to me. >

“. . . Sokka?” Katara says in a small voice, ducking her head. He licks her again—he can’t _help_ it. The world is being invaded, the world is being invaded by _horrible_ things, and it’s bad enough that Katara knows about that. She shouldn’t have to know this too. 

Except she’s going to find out, and if she’s going to find out, it’s going to be from _him_. 

< It’s okay. Just . . . you have until Monday, okay? You have lots of time. >

Katara stares at him for a long moment, her eyes wide and wet, and then her face just . . . crumples, and she hides against him and bursts into fresh tears. And Sokka . . . Sokka just licks her hair and nuzzles into her and makes stupid jokes about nothing until she finally falls asleep. 

In a way it’s nice, because he doesn’t have to care about not being human anymore if he’s got something more important to worry about.

.

.

.

There’s a leash law. 

There’s a leash law so Katara buys a leash and collar and dog tags, tags she puts her cell phone number on, and when the girl behind the counter asks her what name to put on with it the numbness _shreds_ and she bursts into tears right in the middle of the store. 

“Warrior,” Suki says firmly, squeezing her hand. 

.

.

.

It’s two weeks after Prince Iroh and a week after the Yeerk pool. It still wasn’t all a bad dream, and Sokka’s still a wolfdog. His dad still hasn’t reported him missing and the school hasn’t even asked. He spent the first couple days at Aang’s, and Toph took him home the next couple making cracks about guide dogs the whole way, and Lee had him Thursday night and then swore he’d never take him again _ever_ , and he and Katara both made an excuse not to go together every night. Now it’s Friday, and Suki crouches down and smiles at him and fastens a collar around his neck. 

“Warrior,” she tells him. “That’s what we put on the tag. ‘Sokka’ would look a little weird, I think.” 

< Oh, come on, you _know_ you wanted to do ‘Bandit’, > he says, and Suki laughs bright and clear and beautiful and kisses his muzzle. He licks her jaw, then her mouth, and she laughs and pushes him off. 

“Ugh, you _still_ use too much tongue,” she teases, scratching behind his ears. “Although at least your breath’s better now, I gotta give you that.” 

Sokka loves her. He didn’t know it when he was human, didn’t understand it, really, but now he knows: he _loves_ her. Suki is the strongest person he knows. Aang feels guilty, Toph and Lee keep pulling back, Katara has to fight not to cry, but Suki—Suki thought about things like leash laws and where he could sleep and what he could eat and Suki pets him like a dog likes and talks to him like a _human_ likes and Suki isn’t sorry or afraid or anything. 

She doesn’t have to make it a joke or ignore it. She just deals with it, reorganizes the world so it’ll work, and moves on. 

And he can do that too, as long as she can. 

.

.

.

< PLAY! > Sokka whoops excitedly, tackling Lee to the ground. Lee goes down with a yelp and they both land in the bushes. Which is fine with Sokka, since he’s got a nice thick perma-coat of fur these days and it takes a lot more than a couple tiny branches to scratch him up. 

Lee looks less okay with it, but whatever, guy needs to loosen up. 

< Let’s play fetch! Dogs like fetch, right, dogs think fetch is awesome I bet it’s awesome, let’s do it! >

“Now you just sound like Toph,” Lee grumbles, attempting to escape the bush and Sokka both. Ooo, he thinks he’s so wily. But Sokka’s wilier, yes he is! He clamps his teeth around the back of the other’s jacket, dragging him back, and Lee goes down again with another yelp. The yelping is really gratifying, Sokka decides. 

< Oh, I am so much cooler than you, it is like _ridiculous_ how much cooler than you I am, > he declares gleefully, pinning the other to the ground. Lee scowls and tries to shove him off, and Sokka wriggles down heavy atop him and licks messily at his face. He wins, he wins, he wins! He totally—

Oh. Ew.

< Ugh, man, you stink like Taxxon, > Sokka gripes, recoiling and pawing fruitlessly at his nose in an attempt to get the rancid stench out of it. < It’s been days since we were in the pool! You were a bird while we were in the pool! What, do you not shower?! >

Lee’s scent goes weird for a second, kind of freaked out and scared, but he yanks himself back under control quick and, well, it’s not like Sokka blames him. He doesn’t like reminders of that night either. 

Still, ew much? 

< Bath. Baaath. Bath right now— >

“I’m going already!”

.

.

.

It’s really not on purpose. Sokka will swear that until he _dies_ , that it’s not on purpose. He just can’t spend all his time asleep at the foot of Suki’s bed, is all. He’s got a collar and she put in a dog door the day she found out he was trapped and it’s not like he’s going to get _lost_ and even if he did he could at least find his way to the school or the farm, and it’s easy to get to Suki’s from there. So of course he’s not going to stay there all the time. He doesn’t even like staying there as much as he _does_ —that much time indoors makes him uncomfortable. 

So he leaves while she’s at school, and he bums around town being a “friendly puppy”, chasing rats and cats and begging for treats and taunting the dogs who are stuck in their yards, and later not on purpose on his way back towards Suki’s he trots through his old neighborhood. There’s nothing wrong with that—nothing unexpected about it, even, since he and Suki have both lived along the edges of the questionable side of town for ages. It’s why her dad didn’t protest the idea of her getting a big, vicious-looking brute of a “pet” when she first brought Sokka home with her, with his big wolf paws and long wolf teeth and only the barest passing semblance to anything domesticated. 

A collar will buy you a lot of leeway with just how “dog” people see you as. 

The convenience store he stops outside is familiar, and dodgy. Sometimes Dad would send him down to pick up a six-pack or cigarettes for him and the owner never cared, so long as he paid cash. Which could’ve made him really popular at school, Sokka guesses, except he never saw why anyone would think that stuff was so cool, much less fun. Beer made Dad apathetic, or sad—or worse, angry—and cigarettes stank up the house and stained fingers and rotted in old cans and overflowed ashtrays and Sokka was always the one stuck cleaning them up, if anyone did. 

He used to hate the smell of cigarettes, although after a while he didn’t really notice it anymore. 

But it’s a new nose, and when the convenience store door swings open and the smell of smoke and alcohol and human sweat comes out it’s all still new and unfamiliar. Sokka looks _(dogs don’t need to look as close as he does, but old habits)_ , because he’s curious, because he’s still sorting out what smells are what, what means what, learning how to recognize and track a scent on more than just borrowed instincts and—

And it’s his father. 

His tail goes stiff. His hackles raise. He wants to whimper, or roll over and bare his throat or bite him or—

His father stops on the sidewalk, plastic bags dangling from the crook of his arm, and re-lights a half-smoked cigarette with his stained fingers. Sokka used to hate the way that smelled, even once he was used to the smoke. The bags are full of 40 ounce cans and two cartons—full flavor 100’s, Sokka notices absently, the part of him that still does things like read. Dad’s in a bad mood; he hardly _ever_ smokes those, and Sokka’s never seen him buy a full carton, except when the anniversary of what happened to Mom comes around. 

Whatever happened to Mom. 

Do you miss me, Sokka wants to say, _aching_ inside, have you even noticed I’m gone yet, where do you think I am, do you _care_ where I am, do I still matter at all, do—

His father takes a drag, and walks past him without looking. 

He follows. 

For some reason it seems like a good idea at the time, and keeps seeming at least not stupid enough of one to make him stop. He thinks about Toph, and how she’d said so brash and casual that she wished her parents _were_ Controllers, how she’d said it would’ve been better, and he remembers the fury on Aang’s face when she’d accused Gyatso of being one, and the grief on it when they’d found out she was right. 

He feels, just a little, what he thinks Toph was feeling when she said that. 

He feels a lot _more_ what he thinks Aang was feeling when he realized the man who was supposed to be taking care of him wasn’t who he was supposed to be anymore. 

Funny, because it’s been years, but somehow a week apart and Sokka feels . . . different, almost, looking at his father. The man he remembers is not the man he’s been living with, and he _knew_ that, of course, it’s just—it wasn’t—he just couldn’t always tell, then. But now he smells the weary, bone-tired apathy and dull daze and stale smoke and sour alcohol and . . . 

Sick. 

His father smells . . . he smells like he’s sick. Like poison. That’s what the wolfdog’s brain says, that’s what the wolfdog wants to avoid, but Sokka is still human _somewhere_ and he does not have to listen to it. 

This time. 

This time he does not have to listen to it. 

_(sometimes he has to)_

Sokka’s father smells like he’s sick and doesn’t miss him and probably doesn’t even know he’s gone, and Sokka isn’t even human anymore and can’t stay at the foot of Suki’s bed forever, can’t be just an animal whenever she’s not around. Except this past week, he’s _only_ felt human when he was around Suki or Katara or one of the others—when he’s not, he feels less and less like Sokka and more and more like the wolfdog he acquired. 

It’s dead, that wolfdog. It was feral, and it bit someone, and it was sent to the barn to be put down. Sokka didn’t actually know that when he acquired it: that it was feral, yeah, but he thought it was there to get its shots or get fixed or who knew what, whatever you did for animals that weren’t quite what they were supposed to be. 

Like Sokka isn’t quite the animal that he’s supposed to be. 

Maybe like his father isn’t the _human_ that _he’s_ supposed to be. 

They get all the way back to the house that isn’t home anymore without Sokka’s father noticing that he’s being followed, and Sokka pauses at the end of the walk and watches him go inside with his plastic bags and stinking cigarette and the scent of sickness and poison clinging to him, permeating _his_ scent, like a—

The door swings shut. 

Sokka blinks like a spell just got broken and sits down on the sidewalk. He stares at the door that isn’t his door anymore, the door that was always his father’s, and his ears go flat and his shoulders hunch and the wolfdog whines . . . 

And it’s just so much easier to be the animal. 

.

.

.

Hakoda doesn’t want to move. He’s tired. He’s very, very tired. He’s _painfully_ tired, and the idea of moving is . . . later. He’ll get up later. 

He’s just so tired. 

He should eat. Or something. He doesn’t remember if he has yet today. Usually Sokka cooks, but the kid hasn’t been around much this week. Finally got himself a girlfriend, maybe. 

So Hakoda gets up, eventually, and wanders towards the kitchen. The fridge is empty, which is strange. He went grocery shopping this week, didn’t he? 

. . . last week, maybe. Couldn’t have been any longer than last week. _Maybe_ the week before. There should still be a little bit of food around, anyway. 

Well. Teenage boys. They eat a lot. He’ll just call for delivery or something, go shopping tomorrow morning. Or afternoon. Whenever. 

He searches absently through the takeout menus on the fridge, trying to remember where he left his wallet. He’s between jobs, so there hasn’t been much reason to leave the house. Since . . . never mind since when. He just doesn’t see the point in going out for anything more than work anymore. He’s too old for the other nonsense. 

The front door opens. Hakoda shuffles through the menus. 

“Sokka!” he calls. “I’m calling out for pizza, what do you want on it?” 

“What?” a voice says from the front door. Too young, too feminine—Katara. Hakoda blinks, a little startled. It’s been . . . she hasn’t been over lately. He steps into the hall, taking the menu with him, and looks at her. 

And then looks just past her, because she looks too much like Kya. 

“I thought you were your brother,” he tells her. “He’s out.” 

Katara . . . stares at him. 

“Daddy,” she says, swallowing hard, “Sokka’s—Sokka’s sick, remember? He hasn’t . . . he hasn’t been in school all week.” 

“Oh,” Hakoda says inanely, looking back at her for a moment. Well. No wonder the boy hasn’t been cooking. 

“Gran-Gran sent her special stew,” Katara says in a small voice, lifting up the covered bowl in her hands. Hakoda focuses on the bowl rather than her face. “For Sokka.” 

“Oh,” Hakoda says again. “Well, just . . . put it in the fridge. He can have it when he wakes up.” 

“Is . . . is he . . . how is he?” Katara asks in a strange, thick voice. Hakoda starts to figure out what it means, but can’t quite wrap his head around it. Doesn’t quite _want_ to, in a way. “I haven’t—talked to him. Is he doing okay?” 

“He’s fine,” Hakoda replies automatically, moving back into the kitchen. “You know your brother. Complains all the time, but always soldiers on.” 

“Y . . . yeah,” Katara says, looking down at the floor as she follows him. “But he only complains when it’s nothing serious.” 

Hakoda pauses. 

He tries to remember if Sokka’s complained to him this week. If Sokka’s said _anything_ to him this week. 

“I’ll check on him,” he says. 

.

.

.

“How could you?” Bato asks lowly from the other side of the kitchen counter, the counter a police officer was sitting at not five minutes ago, writing down what Sokka was wearing the last time Hakoda saw him and his friends’ names and his regular hangouts and exactly when he vanished—or she was supposed to be writing down those things, except Hakoda didn’t know any of them. Bato isn’t yelling, which is the part that makes Hakoda want to vomit. Just that _voice_ , quiet and steady and echoing back across his entire life, the one friend he kept through everything, until he didn’t. 

No answer. There is no answer. Just like there is no answer about what has happened to his son, no answer about his _wife_ —

“He’s a teenage boy,” Hakoda says inanely, staring at nothing, grabbing the nearest bottle to try and ignore his trembling fingers and burgeoning migraine and taking a harsh swallow. “He just—they run off all the time. He’ll be back.” 

Bato doesn’t say anything, but his silence is worse than anything he could. 

“He will,” Hakoda says again, staring harder at the nothing, tightening his shaking grip on the bottle, because there is nothing else. 

Bato leaves. 

.

.

.

Bato is at Dad’s with Dad and the police officer, and Gran-Gran is copying posters with Sokka’s picture on them on the zoo’s main office’s copier—the most recent one they had, anyway, from Katara’s last birthday. Dad doesn’t take pictures anymore, and Sokka doesn’t come around as much as . . . as much as he used to, Katara guesses. 

Or maybe he never came around much at all, and she just didn’t notice. She had chores and swim team and volunteering at the zoo with Bato and helping Gran-Gran in the barn and she was so busy and Sokka was just—Sokka. She always saw him at school, he was always at the mall, any time she wanted she could bug him for milk money or a quarter for a refill or to borrow his cell phone, even if he hardly ever had any of it because he was Sokka and always losing everything. 

Except he wasn’t, because he never had it, or he was hocking it, or he couldn’t afford to keep it. 

Except he was stupid and a liar and he could’ve come and lived with them any time, Bato and Gran-Gran wouldn’t have minded, he could’ve had the couch or the guest room or Katara would’ve given him hers, if only she’d—if only he’d— 

She bursts into tears as she’s stacking up flyers all covered in the face Sokka will never have again, all asking “if you have any information, please call”, and Gran-Gran leaves the copier and wraps her arms around her and it doesn’t make everything okay, not even a little does it. She has information, she has too much of it, and she can never tell them, and Sokka can never see them, and any day they could both die and Gran-Gran and Bato and Dad would never know, and she’d be gone just like Sokka and just like—just like—

“I wish Mom was here,” Katara sobs, and Gran-Gran’s arms tighten around her shoulders.

.

.

.

< Seriously? > Sokka demands incredulously, eyeing the chittering animal trapped in the carrier. < A _lemur_ , that’s what you’ve got for us? >

“What’s wrong with lemurs?” Aang asks, frowning over at him. 

< Oh, nothing. Only it’s the weirdest pet _ever_?! >

“I dunno, I think it’s kinda cool. Anyway, Kuzon likes it.” 

“And Kuzon has never heard of cats?” Suki asks in amusement, pushing a piece of fruit into the carrier for said lemur, who snatches it up immediately. 

“You guys really have _no_ idea what kind of friends I have, huh,” Aang says ruefully, poking a finger into the carrier and stroking the lemur’s head to acquire it. “Heeey Momo McMomomo, long time no see. Remember me?” 

< _Seriously_ that’s its name? > Sokka asks incredulously. < And your friends fight evil aliens, _that’s_ the kind of friends you have. This kid? This kid is a _slacker_. >

“And probably evil by association. No offense, Aang, but no way Vice Principal Choi’s kid isn’t a Controller,” Toph says shortly, arms folded over her chest. “You even _said_ he’s been acting weird lately!” 

“Yeah. He has,” Aang says quietly, drawing his hand back to himself and looking very tired, just for a moment. “So maybe we’ll find out something from _him_.” 

“Oh, Aang . . .” Katara murmurs, crouching next to him and wrapping her arms around him. Aang looks embarrassed for a moment, but returns the embrace. 

And then he grows fur. 

“Ack!” Katara squeaks in surprise, jerking back. “Oh—oh, that’s kind of cool,” she marvels a moment later, just barely grinning and reaching out again to stroke the fluffy fur at his chest. Sokka sticks his nose in it almost immediately after, sniffing curiously. 

< Ooo. You smell _neat_. Human-y and not human-y. Lemur-y! >

“We are definitely having a talk about you and the overbearing wolfdog instincts after this,” Aang says with a snigger, pushing him off. Katara’s hand stiffens a little on his chest, then falls away. Aang starts to turn to her, but then he starts shrinking, _fast_ , and that kind of overtakes his attention. “Ah! Oh _man_ that’s weird!” 

“I think we safely left ‘normal’ behind a couple construction sites ago,” Toph says, and Aang attempts to respond but it comes out more of a squeak—his vocal chords just went lemur. 

< Okay, you’ve got a point, > he tries again, peering down at his hands as they shrink into teeny-tiny paws, and then a tail pops out the bottom of his spine. < Yike! Still, it’s— >

And then the morph finishes and he catches the smell of _predator_ and oh _crap_! Predator predator _predator_! He screeches in distress, already bounding for the nearest tree, and the predator _leaps_ —

_“SOKKA!”_ Suki and Katara shout, Suki grabbing his collar and Katara throwing her arms around him. Sokka barks, and Aang crams in _tight_ against the crook of the branch he’s hidden on, curled in small on himself and digging his claws into the bark. 

< Sorry, sorry! He ran, it was reflex! > Sokka says sheepishly, dropping to the grass and covering his head with his paws. < Crunchy meaty reflex! Um. I didn’t mean that how it sounded. Mostly. >

< You were going to _eat_ me! > Aang wails, curling up tighter. 

< Only a _little_! Like your tail! You won’t even _have_ a tail when you demorph, you wouldn’t miss it! >

_“SOKKA!”_

< What?! He wouldn’t! >

“Oh my God, we are _so_ talking about the instincts!” 

.

.

.

“What’d I _do_ , Momo?” Kuzon mutters into Aang’s fur, his arms wrapped tight around him and Aang’s tiny little lemur arms wrapped back around him in return as best as they can. The best friend he used to have, except Kuzon got sad and pulled away and Aang stopped paying attention. Because he’s stupid. Because he’s _awful_. “Why doesn’t he love me?” 

For a second, Aang almost wishes Kuzon _had_ turned out to be a Controller after all. At least . . . at least then he wouldn’t have to doubt his dad. Not like _this_. 

He knows what this feels like. 

He was afraid of this. Before, when Grandpa Gyatso was . . . before he _knew_ about Grandpa Gyatso . . . 

He knows what this feels like. It’s enough to crush all the lightness and happiness and easiness that’s ever _existed_ in a person. 

Kuzon muffles another sob against Aang’s fur, and he clings back to him, presses in as hard and tight against him as he can and licks the tears off his face and even curls his tail around the back of his neck and wishes so _bad_ he could just—could just _say_ something, do something, do _anything_ to make it better, just a little, little, _tiny_ bit better. That’s all, that’s it. The whole world is about to be enslaved and right now, right this moment, all he wants is to make this one tiny thing better. 

Just this. 

That’s it. 

Right now . . . right now that’d be enough. 

Except he can’t. He never, never can. If Kuzon _knows_ . . . if he tells him . . . that’s the end of it, if he tells him. 

They’ll take him, if he knows. They’ll take him and put a Yeerk in his brain and he won’t be allowed to be _Kuzon_ anymore and he’ll—and he’ll—

Kuzon sobs. Aang _clings_. 

They could save the world. They could save the _whole_ world. They could free every Controller, save everyone, every _species_ , send every Yeerk back to wherever it is they came from for good, and it wouldn’t matter. Not ever. Nothing will ever make this moment okay. 

Nothing could even _presume_ to. 

.

.

.

This, Aang decides as he scrabbles desperately at Vice Principal Choi’s hands with tiny lemur paws in an attempt to escape—at Zhao Two Four _Six’s_ hands—this is a bad, _bad_ thing. 

Ozai Three looks unimpressed. Or, well, his hologram looks unimpressed, whichever. Aang is kind of wishing Kuzon _had_ gotten a cat after all. Or a dog. A nice _big_ dog. With big teeth. Yeah. Teeth. 

Or a _tiger_. 

“Bring the Andalite bandit to me,” Ozai Three orders, eyes glittering. Aang’s fur bristles. “I will question it.” 

Oh. 

Oh, just . . . just _not_ good. 

“And the boy, as well,” Ozai Three decides. “He is a weakness. His presence has allowed the Andalites to penetrate your dwelling.” 

Zhao startles. Aang freezes. 

“Ah, but Ozai Three, the agreement with my host—” Zhao starts, and Ozai Three’s eyes narrow. Somehow, though, his expression still looks bored. “Of course, Ozai Three,” Zhao says hastily, stiffening. 

Aang growls. He can’t help it. He wants to hurt them, suddenly. He wants to hurt them so badly it _scares_ him. 

He _needs_ to hurt them. 

Instead he stills, and curls up tight around Zhao’s hands, and stares at Ozai Three. 

He’s never been so terrified in his life. 

< Aang? Aang, what’s _happening_ out there? > Katara asks worriedly, a tiny flea hidden somewhere deep in his fur, so small and _breakable_ , and then finally he can feel something other than hate and fear. 

< It’s okay, Katara, > he says, still staring at Ozai Three, still clutched tight in Zhao’s hands, still full of the need to hurt. Still remembering Kuzon upstairs, and the way he’d cried into an animal’s fur because there was nothing and no one else. And that—Ozai Three sees a sad, _wounded_ kid as a _threat_ just because he needs that one tiny scrap of comfort. 

He wants to see them _suffer_ , and that’s something he’s never wanted before.

< _Aang—_ >

< It’s okay, > Aang says, and knows it never will be again. < But when I tell you, jump _away_. >

.

.

.

< I hate this _morph_! > Toph wails, flapping her wings harder than she needs to out of distress but still staying well below the height of the rest of the group. She’s the biggest, a bald eagle, and sounds like she’s wishing she’d picked something even bigger. 

< Are you kidding, this is _wonderful_! > Suki cries, banking hard to the left and spiraling down towards her. 

< It _is_ pretty cool, > Katara agrees, pleasure creeping into the edges of her own thoughtspeak as she coasts. She and Suki are both ospreys—the same osprey, in fact—and she thinks they picked the better bird. Toph’s been cranky about this idea since it first came up, though. 

< Yeah, > Lee breathes as he flashes past, the same red-tailed hawk he first acquired to fight with. His thoughtspeak has a funny, unfocused echo to it and sometimes it’s hard to actually recognize as his voice, but Katara’s getting used to it, just like she’s getting used to the fastfast _fast_ flicker of Sokka’s which is becoming less and less “words” as he uses it more and more often. The meaning’s still clear, but half the time it’s as much picture and thought as actual _sentence_. 

Well, he always was the talker. Of course he’s going to be the one to figure out how to thoughtspeak as clear and sharp and eloquent as Iroh did. 

It’s not like he really has a choice anymore. 

< It’s _perfect_ , > Aang says, sounding just as enthralled as Lee as he snaps peregrine falcon wings closed and falls into a dive. 

Katara follows him, wishing Sokka could be here for this. 

.

.

.

Toph likes morphing. It’s cool, it’s weird, it’s even kind of fun, and hey, they get to _fight_ when they do it. Seriously, who wouldn’t like that? 

Toph does _not_ , however, like morphing things with eyesight that could probably make the microscope defunct—not that she’d actually know, having never had the need for one. 

< I hate this morph, > she swears for the millionth time, shifting in place on her branch. There isn’t a way to describe what it feels like, to suddenly have _eyes_ after being born without sight. She doesn’t even understand what it _means_ , she has to rely completely on the animal’s instincts to interpret the sense, and all it ever does is give her a headache and give her—

< Sokka’s collar is blue, > Suki says as she lands in the tree beside her. Toph blinks. 

< What? > she asks slowly. 

< Sokka’s collar. It’s blue, > Suki repeats casually, grooming her wings as she speaks. < That’s what the color blue looks like. >

Toph blinks again. 

And then, for the first time, she tries to makes sense of what she’s seeing.   
.

.

.

Lee used to go to a different school, and when he did he had a different girlfriend. It’s a surprise to find out, even though it shouldn’t be, and Katara can’t help being a little curious. Everything’s so _complicated_ now, so awful and painful, and she just wants a little bit of normal teenage drama. 

“Why’d you break up?” she asks as she and Jin sit across from each other in the food court, splitting half the contents of the nearest dollar menu between themselves: another normal thing, a little more of a normal life. 

“He hit me,” Jin says matter-of-factly, taking a sip of her milkshake. She says it like it’s nothing, like it’s the saddest thing in the world, like she doesn’t care at all and like she’ll never get over it. 

Like it’s normal. 

Or like she wishes there were such a thing. 

Katara stares at her, and feels something change in herself. Later, when she can stand to think again, Suki tells her, “Not everything terrible is them.” 

Lee doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t hide anything either. 

.

.

.

Kanna stirs dinner on the stove, trying not to feel tired. Bato is in the barn, checking up on the animals, and Katara is curled up on the living room sofa, watching silly little-kid cartoons with Aang. Kanna can hear them talking every so often, but only very quietly and not the easy way they always used to. Mostly there’s the cartoon, loud and happy and bright and nothing like anything else in the house. 

Hakoda is not here. 

Katara used to wear pretty beads in her hair, silver and blue strung on two skinny braids framing her face. Sometimes she’d tie them back into her half-ponytail, and sometimes she’d let them hang down, and now she doesn’t wear them anymore. She pulls her hair into messy buns or leaves it loose and barely combed and . . . 

Katara used to pay so much attention to her hair. Like Bato used to look less tired, like Hakoda used to come around, and like Sokka and Kya used to be here. 

Kanna closes her eyes, just for a moment, and stops stirring the stew and listens to the sound of the cartoon and Aang’s quiet voice, young but not as young as it once was, back when Kanna lived on the farm alone and Hakoda and Kya and the kids lived in town on the same street as he still does. She remembers the way it used to be, how their family used to be. Perfect, exactly perfect, a man and a woman and a boy and a girl and a little house with a little yard and the farm to come to on the weekends, everything just . . . everything just . . . 

“Gran-Gran?” 

She opens her eyes. Katara is standing on the other side of the counter, her hair loose and tangled around her shoulders. Kanna wants to say the right thing, but there’s no right thing to say. Katara is so _young_ , barely more than a child, but her eyes look so old. 

“Yes, dear?” Kanna says, doing her best to smile. 

It’s all she can do. 

.

.

.

Song sees her first human after Zuko Five Three Three has already left her to be one: it is small, barely the height of her shoulders and barely half as wide as them, and it has long, lush black fur on its head but nowhere else. It has two legs and two arms and two eyes too, both three colors—white, yellow, and black—and a flat, expressive snout. Its ears are very visible but don’t move at all, and its arms are like an Andalite’s, except thicker and without enough fingers.

And stronger, Song learns when the human grabs a Dracon beam meant for Hork-Bajir hands and still manages to squeeze the trigger. An Andalite couldn’t have done that.

The Hork-Bajir-Controller who’d lost grip of his weapon goes down missing a leg and half his tail—Ruon-Jian Seven Eight Five, Song thinks, absently recalling the way to treat loss of a limb by Dracon or Shredder, absently despairing for the host she knows no one will bother to treat—and Chan Two Four Two _yanks_ at her mind and sends them leaping forward to swipe for the human’s arm. Song’s body flashes with muscle memory of the fluid grace Zuko Five Three Three would always move it with, and Chan Two Four Two snarls in irritation and stomps it down. It hurts, although Song’s more occupied by the knowledge that Chan Two Four Two is too _slow_. Those unexpectedly swift and strong human arms have already brought up the Dracon beam, and those unexpected human arms are going to kill them.

_Haru,_ she thinks longingly, and the human fires.

Mai Six Two Four slams into them, and they go down, the air sizzling and Chan Two Four Two cursing in pain and Song shaken with want and loneliness. She feels Haru’s body against hers, Haru’s arms around her, and wants nothing more than to hold him. Chan Two Four Two stomps her down again and she reels, falling backwards into herself as Mai Six Two Four sweeps Haru’s tail into the back of the human’s legs and knocks it down. The Dracon beam sears a line across the ceiling, bright and burning, and Song tries to stay conscious because . . . because.

The human’s face is angry, she thinks, and brokenhearted.

As if she could know the look of a human’s face.

Mai Six Two Four grabs it and grabs the Dracon beam away; it cries out as its wrist makes a funny cracking sound, and it takes Song a moment to realize it just broke.

The human snarls, the sound full of pain and its uninjured hand clawing at Mai Six Two Four’s hand. Mai Six Two Four doesn’t respond to it, but Chan Two Four Two _sniggers_ in a way that feels rough and all wrong in Song’s throat. She doesn’t like him, she thinks to herself: he uses her all wrong, and he wastes his time crushing her thoughts when he should be keeping them _alive_. She is voluntary; she and Haru surrendered to this, agreed to suffer it for the sake of keeping some scrap of themselves and what they have together alive. Chan Two Four Two has no reason to subdue her, and no need to.

Song thinks, again, that she does not like him.

And then thinks: if she _dislikes_ him, does that mean Zuko Five Three Three she . . .

“Iroh will _kill_ you!” the human snarls, and Mai Six Two Four stills and Chan Two Four Two stiffens and Song . . . Song forgets everything else. She knows that name. _Every_ Controller knows that name.

But this human who is not even a host yet, this human with angry, heartbroken eyes . . . this human should not know it.

She thinks, _what else do they know that they shouldn’t?_

.

.

.

< You like them. >

< Shut up. >

< You like them. >

< Shut up. >

< You _like_ them. >

< Shut _up_! >

< You think they’re crazy. You think they’re _brave_. You’ve never thought the enemy was _brave_ before, the enemy was never real _people_ before— >

< _Shut UP!_ >

< —and they’re smart, aren’t they, they’re not half-mindless monsters or stupid little kids who need taken care of, they can _think_ — >

< I said be _QUIET_! >

< You don’t want me to be quiet. You’re _alone_ when I’m— >

< You’re an _idiot_! Stupid, foolish, small little _thing_ , never even left your own _planet_ before—! >

< Yes I have. >

< I’d _know_ if you’d left the planet, fool! >

< You were with me. >

< What? What the _Deep_ are you— >

_grass. blue grass, a little bit of green. a lot of blue. the certain way the water curves into it. RUNNING—_

< That isn’t _us_! >

< It feels like it’s us. >

< Stop it, stop it _right_ now— >

< But it does, right? Makes me want to acquire an Andalite. Those _heads_ of theirs, man . . . >

_grass. grass and sunlight and FREEDOM—_

< Stop it. Stop— _talking_ like that, it’s not how you—just stop _talking_ like that! >

< Just because I sound more like a Yeerk than _you_ do . . . >

< You do not! >

< That’s why you hate it when I talk like that. Right? Because it makes you sound like the human. And you don’t want to sound like the human. >

< As if you’d _know_! >

< I know you like them. >

.

.

.

Suki’s teeth _itch_ , grow long and sharp in her mouth, and she licks wolf’s fangs with a wolf’s tongue and does a thing like grinning. 

< Okay, > Sokka says, head tipping to one side as he watches her finish morphing, < is it disturbing that I find this hot? I mean, seriously, scale of one to ten, tell me where that falls. >

< Ten, > Suki answers casually, and sniffs the air. Scent hits her like an _assault_ , the forest’s and _Sokka’s_ and suddenly the world is full of a thousand different things she didn’t know a second ago. There’s mast and bushes and trees and mice under the dirt and little birds up high in the trees and a rabbit ran across this ground this morning and a doe and her faun slept here last night and Sokka is—Sokka is—

She thought the _leopard_ had a nose. 

< Wow, > she murmurs, tipping her head back and breathing in deeper. The whole forest opens up, crisp and clear and all these things she doesn’t know, but the wolf brain mostly fills in the details. Sokka’s tail wags, and he gives her one of his silly doggy grins, and her hackles rise and she _snarls_. 

Sokka’s scent changes, and Suki blinks, jarred. 

< What— > she starts, and Sokka’s ears droop and his head hangs and _again_ her hackles rise and her teeth bare and—

< Crud, > he says, and shakes himself roughly. And then his posture changes. He straightens up and lifts his head and locks eyes with her, and for a second Suki remembers how _big_ he is, really, bigger than the average dog or wolf. Katara said that happens sometimes with the crossbreeds, that they turn out bigger than their parents. 

. . . Sokka’s _really_ big. 

< Nnn, > she manages, caught up in the rush of the wolf’s instincts. 

< Sorry, > Sokka says sheepishly. < I’m used to acting like a dog. >

< Nnn, > Suki attempts again, and realizes for the first time that he’s _not_ one. 

.

.

.

< Annnd you’re _not_ the right wolf pack, are you, > Sokka says slowly, staring at the other end of the clearing and the kill between him and said pack. The alpha wolf that is definitely _not_ Aang growls, and the other wolves with him that are definitely not Suki or Katara or Toph or Lee, they growl too. Loudly. 

_Really_ loudly. 

Aw, crap. 

Crap, crap, _crap_. 

Like it wasn’t awkward enough when it was just Aang and Lee and the girls trying to get over the wolf instincts to not kick his ass. Real wolves? Real wolves do not _care_ about getting over those instincts. Real wolves, actually, are all _about_ those instincts. 

The pack advances. Sokka stiffens. 

This is just not good at all. Has he sworn about this yet? Really, _really_ eloquently? Because he definitely needs to. The wolves might not kill him, but for sure they’re going to _seriously_ make him regret being born and he does not at _all_ want to spend the next six to eight weeks in a cage in the barn. He’s not cool with that. Not at all is he cool with that. 

And also, they still _might_ kill him. 

< Pleeeease tell me thoughtspeak works on animals. _Please_. Nice wolves. Niiiiice wolves. I don’t want your kill. I _swear_ I don’t want it, it’s all _raw_ and . . . and kind of delicious-looking, actually, huh, are you gonna eat the whole— >

The alpha male _snarls_. 

< _I DIDN’T MEAN THAT!_ >

.

.

.

Zuko doesn’t notice. Not for the first week. Not even the second or the third. 

But then, collapsing in exhaustion after barely escaping wolf morph . . . then he sees his host’s arm, and the tail blade scar that isn’t on it anymore. 

He blinks. 

He stares. 

The humans are talking, the humans are fretting and groaning and crying out relief and the brother is slinking back with his ears flat, just barely whining in the back of his throat, and Zuko . . . Zuko’s host has no scar on its arm. 

It’s supposed to have scars. 

He touches the burn on his host’s temple, the one just beside its eye and mostly hidden by its hair, and it’s not there. He looks at his host’s knuckles where its skin has been split open countless times, and at its palms where barbed wire bit into it once and its supposed to be scraped-up knees and elbows and there are no _scars_. 

There is _nothing_. 

“Shit,” he says blankly, staring at his host's hands, and the humans give him a confused look. 

Andalites. Fucking Andalites and their _technology_ —

< Well, crap, > his host says. < Azula’s going to notice _that_ the next time we fool around in decent light. >

_“Shit!”_

.

.

.

Toph demorphs and vomits everything she’s eaten for the past _week_ into the bushes. The disorientation of having working eyes—even if for only an hour and fifty-nine minutes at a time—is going to _kill_ her. 

But oh . . . oh, the way it feels to _fight_ like that . . . 

Hork-Bajir don’t treat her like something delicate. Taxxon don’t treat her like something delicate. The Yeerks want her _dead_ , and they’ll do any damn _thing_ to get her that way. 

They think she’s a worthy enemy. They think she’s a warrior. 

They think she’s a _threat_. 

She grins, shaky and dizzy, and pushes herself back up. Sokka noses at her hip in concern, and she digs her fingers into his ruff. 

“Home, James,” she says, grin twisting crooked as she spits bile onto the ground. 

She’s never been this alive. 

.

.

.

Zuko Five Three Three’s host dreams of the sea and a voice calling out for help for a week straight and it drives Zuko _crazy_. 

Then the human siblings tell everyone they’re having the same dream. 

“What?” Zuko asks inanely, and somewhere in all the following theories and arguments and doubts the younger male—Aang—pulls up a clip from last night’s local news on YouTube and oh _fuck_ there’s an Andalite ship in the ocean. Which is the last thought he has before his host’s brain cuts out completely and he hits the floor and keeps falling. 

And falling. 

And falling. 

And—

_water_

< I’m here. >

Zuko’s host turns back on and snaps its eyes open and jerks the body upright and blinks, very slowly, and Zuko tries to remember how to control it somewhere in the middle of drowning and drowning and _drowning_ and he _knows_ that voice that inhuman voice that—

“Lee? _Lee_!” The brother's mate is shouting his host’s name, is waving her hand in front of his line of sight, but Zuko can’t think. His host tracks the hand with its eyes, then focuses on her face, expression sharpening. She stills, and stares, and Zuko lunges back into the controls and _yanks_ his host down. 

His host is voluntary. Docile. It’s very calm in most situations and generally uncaring about the fate of the human race and caring even less about the fate of alien races, and it doesn’t much care what Zuko does with its body. Zuko isn’t worried about it warning the humans about him. Or at least, he doesn’t think he is. 

He _is_ worried about the way the body’s face looks when it’s in control. 

“I’m okay,” he tells the girl—Suki, that’s her designation—and it turns out the siblings keeled over just the same way and then the humans are all talking and fretting and all Zuko can think about is that voice. That _voice_. 

That _Andalite_ voice. 

“But I don’t understand why we’re the only ones seeing it,” the sister says, frowning. 

“I bet it’s because Sokka’s trapped in morph and you and Lee are the best morphers,” the younger male tells her. Zuko’s having a hard time concentrating after realizing there’s Andalite filth in his head and _talking_ to his _host_ , but that gets his attention. 

“What are you talking about?” he asks, frowning at him. “I’m the slowest one.”

“Well, yeah, but you never get overwhelmed by the instincts or anything, and you always figure out how the new morphs work the fastest,” the younger male says reasonably, and Zuko’s host _laughs_ in their head. 

< Oh my _God_ , > it says, < do you have any _idea_ how many Andalite war heroes just rolled over in their graves?! >

For some reason . . . for some reason, the thought makes Zuko uncomfortable. Another part of him’s busier thinking about the irony in the idea that his people could be naturally inclined to use _Andalite_ morphing technology. Except from what he’s learned about the way it works, it seems they are. A cat or hawk morph doesn’t have an intelligent will or mind of its own, and any Yeerk with half a brain has the ability to subjugate an actively resisting intelligence. 

He stops thinking about it, because he can’t quite get his mind around the thought. 

“It’s an Andalite,” the sister says firmly. “We need to save it.” 

Zuko votes “yes” when they decide, and thinks, _I need to kill it._

.

.

.

So ironically, the weekend after Aang tells Lee how good he is at _not_ getting overtaken by a morph, the guy gets completely lambasted by being a dolphin. 

Not that Aang really blames him—being a dolphin is _wonderful_. Being a dolphin might just be the best thing that’s ever happened to him, after flying. 

< This is such a better way to _swim_! > Lee cries gleefully, lunging ahead of the group and leaping out of the water. 

< Well, it’s better than being a bird, anyway, > Toph allows dismissively—then _bursts_ into giggles and chases after him. < Heeey, no fair no fair wait _up_! >

< Can’t catch me, can’t catch me! >

< I so _can_! >

< _Guys_ . . . > Katara starts, but Lee and Toph are getting way far ahead and Suki’s already rushing after them and Aang is _totally_ not letting them get away with that. 

< Wait for us! > he yells, starting to lunge forward, but Katara swims in front of him and blocks him. 

< _GUYS!_ This is where we’re supposed to go down! > Katara shouts after the others. 

< What, really? > Aang immediately brightens, swimming backwards and flipping into a roll underneath the water for the sheer joy of the _motion_. < Awesome, I bet I beat you there! >

< Wh— _Aang_! > Katara protests, but he’s already diving. < _HEY!_ >

< Eat my _bubbles_! > Aang calls back triumphantly. He _loves_ to play with Katara. 

< As _if_! > Katara bursts past him in a rush, and Aang crows in delight and races after her, and they spin around each other and he nuzzles her head and she brushes against his side and their bellies rub together and they twirl and nuzzle and wrestle in the water, nipping at each other and tumbling end over end in a gleeful, laughing circle and it’s so fun and feels so _good_ — 

And then Suki slams into them and breaks them apart and sends them spinning in opposite directions, and Katara yelps and Aang whimpers because owow _ow_ did that hurt! 

< What was _that_ for?! > Katara demands indignantly, and Suki just breaks the surface for breath and then dives again, heading down the way the whales told them to go. 

< Nothing you want Sokka to find out about, put it that way, > she says wryly, and Aang pauses and Katara pauses and at the same time they both realize—

< _Oh_. >

< Man, we could be, like, the best marine biologists in the _world_ , > Toph says casually as she follows Suki down, Lee chasing after her. < Or animal behavioral scientists or whatever, I don’t know. Do scientists make real money? ‘Cause I could get _behind_ that, if they do. Mind, not as behind it as Twinkletoes and Sugarqueen here— >

< _TOPH!_ It’s _not_ funny! > Katara fumes. 

< Yes it is, > Toph retorts matter-of-factly. 

< It kinda is, yeah, > Suki agrees with a snicker. < As long as Sokka never hears a _word_ of it, anyway. >

< Are you kidding? I’m giving him the play-by- _play_. >

< Don’t you _dare_! >

< Awww, Sugarqueen, gettin’ shy on us? >

< You—! >

< Woooow, > Suki murmurs, and that’s when they catch sight of the—

< Oh my God, is that a _field_ under the _water_? >

< It’s the Dome! > Lee blurts in surprise. < It must’ve taken a hit when the Andalites detached it to fight! >

< It’s the _what_? > Suki asks in bemusement. < What are you _talking_ about? >

< Uh—um—I just— >

< You get used to it, > Katara says dismissively, giving Lee a concerned nuzzle before swimming down towards the dome. < Iroh dumped a lot into his head, he gets a little disoriented when it pops up. > Aang follows her, looking down at it in wonder—it _is_ a dome, like a big pretty snowglobe except the trees look like weirdly-colored broccoli and asparagus and the grass is more blue than green. And, well, on top of that it’s kind of enormous. 

And it’s kind of _beautiful_ , too. 

But not as beautiful as the flash of blue fur and scorpion tail bounding across the inside. 

< Andalite, > Lee says, stunned, and < _Andalite_ , > Katara breathes in a voice full of hope. 

.

.

.

The water drains out of the airlock. They demorph. Clarity comes back, and Zuko Five Three Three breathes a sigh of relief—dolphins are not like cats, not like birds, not like _humans_ : dolphins are _joyous_. 

And “joyous” is hard to control. 

Who’d want to? Swimming like that, fast and easy and _free_ and the water a _playground_ and not a sludge dragging you down, body buoyant and light, existence not a _punishment_ —

He closes his eyes. He reorients his mind. There is an Andalite in here; he can kill or capture it, he can turn it over to Ozai Three, he can make up for being a damn _fool_ and—

The airlock door opens. 

Zuko’s thoughts cut out again. His eyes don’t focus on the shredder beam like they should. Instead, it’s the face. Something in him _knows_ that face. 

< You’re getting soft on me, > his host grunts. 

“Uh . . . we come in peace?” the younger male attempts with a sheepish grin, holding his hands up. 

< Good for you, > the Andalite says, eyeing them with a look that very _clearly_ says, “just for the record, my shredder? _not_ set on stun”. < Now tell me why I should _receive_ in peace. >

“We got your message!” the sister says quickly, stepping forward with her own hands in the air. “We’re here to help!” 

< That message was for my cousins, > the Andalite says, all four eyes narrowing down at them, and oh, that is _definitely_ the glare of a warrior. < How did you intercept it? >

“Hey there, big guy, your message came to _us_ ,” the youngest female snorts at him, making a face in his general direction—not as close to his general direction as she gets with most people, without the sound of his voice to go off. “Well, came to Snoozles and Sugarqueen and Sparky, anyway, but us Animorphs, we hang together.” 

< Animorphs? > The Andalite hesitates for a moment, although its weapon doesn’t lower. < I don’t know that species. >

“We’re not a species, really, we’re kinda more a . . . um, club?” the brother's mate tries, then looks embarrassed with herself for the choice of phrasing. “ _Not_ a club. A group. Squad. Regiment. _Thing_.” 

< Regiment? > The Andalite’s attention focuses more tightly on them. < You are soldiers? >

“No,” the younger male replies, shaking his head quickly. “No, we’re not. But we’re . . . well, we’re fighting the Yeerks. Your people . . . I’m sorry, but they’re all gone. You’re the only one here.” 

< They went back into Z-Space? > the Andalite asks, hesitant again, and this time its weapon _does_ lower. Zuko . . . Zuko should feel triumphant, but for some reason the sight evokes a terrible _sadness_. 

“We’re so sorry,” the sister says quietly, letting her hands fall back to her sides. “There was one—his fighter crashed. He told us about the Yeerks, and what happened to your other fighters. He gave us a weapon—”

< _What_ weapon? > the Andalite demands, fur bristling and tail arching as if to strike. Zuko should feel afraid or angry or ready to fight. But he doesn’t. It doesn’t make sense, this is an _Andalite_ ; he has despised Andalites all his _life_ , even fought them face-to-face and from the cockpit of a Bug Fighter more than once. But he doesn’t despise this one, and he doesn’t want to fight it. 

He just keeps feeling so _sad_. 

“Morphing, duh, how do you _think_ we got down here?” the youngest female snorts, holding up a hand that briefly turns dolphin-gray before reverting back to normal, then grinning sharply as a thought seems to occur to her. “Why, you got something better?” 

< That’s--that’s not possible, > the Andalite says, staring at her in disbelief. < That—it’s not done! It’s _never_ done! >

“It, uh, kinda got done,” the younger male says sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck like he’s not sure if he should apologize for that or not. “Sorry?” 

“So that’s a ‘no’ on the something better, then?” the youngest female asks with a disappointed expression.

< This is not a _joke_! Who would _possibly_ do that?! > the Andalite snarls, shredder swinging back up and tail blade arching again. 

“Well—his name was kind of long, but it started Prince Iroh—um, Prince Iroh-Alz . . .” The sister trails off, frowning in frustration and something close to shame, and rakes a hand through her hair. “I’m sorry, I don’t—”

“Prince Iroh-Azulon-Sozin,” Zuko’s host interrupts absently, and Zuko nearly has a heart attack scrambling for control. 

“That’s right!” the sister says in relief, clapping her hands together. “He was the one. He gave it to us before he died.” 

< Impossible, > the Andalite says, staring at them. < Iroh is a great warrior—our _greatest_ warrior! He cannot die! No Yeerk _filth_ could kill _him_! >

“Sorry, Prancer. Evil brainslugs one, noble deertaurs zero,” the youngest female replies shortly, her fingers digging into her arms and lips pressing together in a thin white line. 

_“Toph!”_ the sister hisses, giving her a horrified look, but Zuko’s host laughs inside their head. 

Zuko doesn’t. 

The Andalite . . . the Andalite looks _wounded_. 

“Why weren’t you with the fighters?” he asks abruptly, suddenly realizing that a warrior being in the Dome during a _firefight_ makes no sense at all. Especially not a firefight the Andalites were _losing_ , when they’d need every able-bodied—

Oh. 

The Andalite stiffens. 

< I am an _aristh_ , > it says stiffly, head held high, although its tail is sagging. Zuko stares at it, uncomprehending. He must be misremembering the Andalite military terms, there’s no _way_ eyes like those belong to a—

“What’s an _aristh_?” the younger male asks curiously. 

< A . . . > The Andalite struggles for words for a moment, then continues tersely. < A cadet. I am too young to fight by my people’s law. >

“Shyeah, right, like anybody’s ever too young to _fight_!” the youngest female laughs, and in their head Zuko’s host laughs too, although its is nastier. 

“We are too,” the sister says, gentling again and tucking her hair behind her ears. “Too young to fight, I mean. But there’s no one else.” 

< You . . . > The Andalite hesitates again, tail sagging even lower. < You fight the Yeerks? And you . . . came for me? >

“After Prince Iroh—” The Andalite flinches at the sound of the name, and the sister hesitates, but then plows on—“We couldn’t not come. Not for an Andalite. He died protecting our _world_. They _all_ —” 

< I understand, > the Andalite says brusquely, then offers a stiff nod. < I am _Aristh_ Luroh-Tenzulon-Sozin, of the Dome Ship _GalaxyTree_. >

The humans stare. 

“. . . Lu Ten,” the youngest female decides finally, wrinkling her nose. “Okay. Nice to meet ya.” 

< Who is your prince? > the Andalite asks. The humans look towards the younger male; Zuko does too, but not intentionally. Herd mentality of his host, he tells himself. 

“Guess that’d be Twinkletoes here,” the youngest female decides. “Least, he probably _sucks_ the least at it.” 

“I’m not really—” the younger male starts quickly, waving his hands in front of himself, but the Andalite has already stepped forward, bowing its head and lowering its tail. 

< I am honored to fight for you until I may return to my cousins, Prince Twinkletoes. >

“. . . oh man, Snoozles is _never_ going to forgive himself for missing this.” 

.

.

.

< Oh wow oh wow oh _wow_! Andalite! > Sokka says gleefully, jumping up at Lu Ten, who recoils in surprise and narrowly prevents himself from stabbing him in the head with his tail blade. < You found an Andalite! A real live _still_ live _not_ evil _Andalite_! >

“Yeah, I think we noticed, Snoozles,” Toph says dryly, grabbing him around the neck and giving his head a quick scruffing. “Getting a little excited there?” 

< AndaliteAndalite _Andalite_ —! >

< What _is_ this morph? > Lu Ten asks incredulously, stepping backwards and keeping his tail up warily. 

“He’s a wolfdog,” Suki tells him helpfully, grabbing Sokka by the collar and pulling him back as he bounds forward again eagerly. “It’s a crossbreed of one of our predator species and its domesticated descendants. They’re a little, uh, _unpredictable_ , temperament-wise.” 

< _ANDALITE!_ >

< . . . I see. >

“This is Sokka,” Katara says, gesturing towards him without quite looking at him—specifically, without quite looking at Suki and the grip she has on his collar. “He’s my brother. He’s one of us.” 

< Hey, you’ve got four legs too! Let’s _race_! >

“. . . he’s also an idiot. Don’t mind him.” 

< I am _Aristh_ Luroh-Tenzulon-Sozin of the Dome Ship _GalaxyTree_. I am honored to meet you, Sokka, as I have been honored to meet your brother warriors, > Lu Ten says, inclining his head slightly. 

“And _sister_ , Prancer!” 

< Ah—yes. And sister. >

< Azulon? > Sokka sits back on his rump, ears perking attentively. < Like Iroh? Hey, are you related? >

“Oh God—it _is_ the same, isn’t it,” Katara realizes, giving Lu Ten a startled look and covering her mouth with a hand. “I’m so sorry, we didn’t even—” 

< It is fine, > Lu Ten says, his thoughtspeak stiff again. < I am Prince Iroh’s onlyborn son. >

“His what?” Lee asks, visibly startling. 

“Lee was the last one with him,” Aang blurts. Lu Ten looks at Lee, and he shifts uncomfortably and looks away. 

“It was just a few seconds,” he says awkwardly. 

< Did he say something to you? > Lu Ten asks, very quietly. Lee looks trapped for a moment, then just shakes his head hesitantly. 

“Not . . . exactly,” he says awkwardly. “He . . . he showed me some things. About the Yeerks and how to fight them, and . . .” 

< And what? > Lu Ten demands, voice sharpening. 

“And . . . and the place the Dome was trying to look like, I think,” Lee says, looking at the ground. Lu Ten stares at him for a long moment, and doesn’t say anything. 

“Anyway!” Aang says quickly, stepping forward to catch their attention. “We need to head back. Grandpa—I mean, our families are gonna miss us. So, uh . . . I don’t suppose you have another Earth morph? Something, you know, subtler?” 

“What, something subtler than a _deertaur_? Geez, Twinkletoes, where do you get these crazy ideas of yours?” Toph asks with a smirk. 

< I can arrange one, > Lu Ten says, stepping towards Lee. < With your permission? >

“Uh, I don’t really—” Lee starts awkwardly, but cuts himself off when Lu Ten’s hand touches his face, a strange expression flickering across it. “Um.” 

“You’re going to morph Lee?” Suki asks in surprise.

< With your permission, > Lu Ten repeats, and moves to her to touch her face the same way. Lee just rubs at his cheek, expression still unreadable. 

“Whoa,” Suki murmurs as Lu Ten draws back from her and continues around the circle. “So that’s what being acquired feels like. All . . . floaty. And stuff.” 

< If you demorph, I can include your DNA in the process as well, > Lu Ten says to Sokka, who cocks his head curiously and gives his tail a few thumps against the ground. 

< No can do, buddy, I’m Underdog, > he says cheerfully, and Lu Ten gives him an uncomprehending look. < What I mean is, this morph and I are _such_ good buddies we decided to move in together. >

< You are trapped? > Lu Ten’s expression turns briefly startled, then regretful. < I am sorry. You’ve paid a heavy price, > he says quietly, and then starts to morph. 

< Whatever, you get used to it, > Sokka replies dismissively, sniffing curiously at the air as the other changes. < Oh wow, that smells _so_ weird. >

“It _looks_ so weird,” Aang says, watching with bright-eyed curiosity. “You’re morphing _all_ of us? Like if Katara and I and Lee and Suki had kids and then they had kids and their kids had kids with _Toph’s_ kids?” 

< Er . . . roughly? > Lu Ten says, glancing down at himself as he changes. < It’s a gross oversimplification, really, it’s more— >

< _Hey!_ Wait a sec, why is _Lee_ the one having kids with Suki?! > Sokka yelps indignantly, fur bristling. 

“What, you wanna have _puppies_ with her, Snoozles?” Toph teases, giving one of his ears a tug. 

< We’ll have puppies before I let _pretty_ boy make a move on her! > Sokka shoots back, nipping her wrist and then growling pointedly at Lee. Katara looks away, biting her lip. 

“I have a _girlfriend_!” Lee protests, flushing in embarrassment. “A _good_ girlfriend!” 

“Oh, _I’m_ not good, Lee?” Suki asks with a pout, and Lee immediately looks horrified. 

“I didn’t say that!” 

< So you _are_ making a move on her! >

_“Guys!”_

“Guy. Zzz. Guyzzz? Guuuuyyyyzzzz,” an unfamiliar voice says, and the rest of the group automatically turns to find a very pretty boy standing in front of them, his hair black with the barest hints of brown where the light hits and his skin a perfect balance between Katara’s dark skin, Aang and Suki’s peachy, and Toph and Lee’s respective palls. His eyes are blue like Katara and Suki’s, and his lips are full like theirs too; the arch of his eyebrows is Toph’s, though, and the youthful roundness to his face is Aang’s, and the strong shoulders are Lee’s. 

And as for the breakdown of the rest of him, well, that’s a slightly more delicate topic. 

“ _Geh!_ Lu Ten, put some _clothes_ on!” 

“Kuh-low-suh? Khlows!” 

“And me without my eyes on.” 

.

.

.

< Guys! _Guys_! >

Enemy territory. Danger. 

< Guys, _listen_ to me! >

Not safe. 

Food? Food. 

This way to food. 

< _KATARA!_ >

< AHHHHHHHHHHHH! >

. . . voice? 

_Katara’s_ voice. 

And then Aang’s mind snaps back into existence and he starts screaming too. He doesn’t even _mean_ to, he just can’t—he can’t _not_ oh God oh God oh _God_ that was—that was—

< These creatures—what sort of _horrible_ —?! > Lu Ten chokes in horror, and Aang might still be screaming, or maybe it’s still Katara, and someone is crying and maybe _that’s_ him. 

< Hive mind, > Lee says dizzily, his thoughtspeak even more splintered than usual. < They’re—bits and pieces, can’t get around a brain that’s not all in the one _place_ the shape’s all wrong— >

< I have to demorph! > Toph shrieks. < I can’t do this I can’t I can’t I can’t I _can’t_ —! >

< _Don’t!_ You can’t, Toph, you all have to demorph at the same time, somebody might get crushed otherwise! > Sokka blurts quickly, and Toph _sobs_. 

< _Please!_ > she wails. 

< No! No, we have to do this, we have to get inside Choi’s for the Z-Space transponder! > Suki blurts, although her voice is hoarse and shaken. < We can’t—I can’t _do_ this morph again, we have to do it _now_! >

< I can’t _stay_ like this! > Toph howls back at her. 

< It’s okay! It’s okay, we’re all—we’re all okay, right, we’re all back?! > Katara stammers, and Aang _cringes_ at the horrible, _broken_ sound of her voice. He’s never, ever heard Katara sound like that. < Ev—everyone’s back, right? >

< I think so, > Aang manages, trying not to think. Trying to be very, _very_ himself. Just him. Him. Him. _Him_. He’s a _person_ — < Guys? Everyone okay? >

< Yes, > Lee answers, his voice stiff. < Yes. >

< Yes, Prince Aang, > Lu Ten echoes, even stiffer. 

< Yes, > Suki bites off. 

< _No,_ > Toph moans, and a chill goes up Aang’s nonexistent spine at the sound of her voice. She didn’t sound that broken-up the night Prince _Iroh_ died—the night they thought _Sokka_ died. 

< This was a bad idea, > Sokka says, and he sounds shaken. < You guys, it was . . . it was five _minutes_ before you snapped out of it, you know that, right? I thought you were _gone_ , I thought—it was five _minutes_! >

< Oh _God_! > Toph sobs. 

< We have to do this, > someone says. It takes Aang a moment to realize it was himself, and he really, really wishes it hadn’t been. 

This is horrible. 

This is so, so horrible. 

And they have to do it.

.

.

.

Zuko drops into a crouch and opens his host’s backpack. He hates being early. He can’t _believe_ he was early. Early enough to get left alone with the _Andalite_. 

“Nobody’s given you any fiction yet, right?” he asks, keeping his eyes on the bag. “Just the science books and stuff.” 

< That is correct, > the Andalite says, looking down at him. Looking down _on_ him, probably, the condescending— < Understanding human technology is important to blending in when I must pass as one. >

“No, that’s important to figuring out what you can do with the technology we’ve got,” Zuko corrects, and holds up _The Essential Classic X-Men_. It’s the human brother’s—the other told him to bring it, since a wolfdog would look a little strange carrying a book. This isn’t an idea he’d have acted on himself. “For blending _in_ , you need pop culture.” 

< I see, > the Andalite says, taking the book carefully and frowning down at it curiously before opening it. Its eyes widen in surprise. < It’s all pictures? >

“Humans are a lot more visual than Andalites. You might like it better if you read it morphed,” Zuko says, and the Andalite frowns and looks up at him again. 

< You know more than the others, > it says. Zuko tries not to grimace at the way its thoughtspeak bursts into bloom inside his head, so much more fluent and _invasive_ than crude human imitations. < My father—he told you things? >

“Yeah,” Zuko answers, looking back down at his bag as he zips it back shut. 

< But you are not the prince. >

Zuko blinks, and looks back at him. “What?” 

< You know the most, > the Andalite says carefully, lowering the book in its hands. < You understand the threat most immediately. You are also, from what I have seen of you, a natural warrior and the most experienced with necessary violence. But you are not the prince. Why not? >

“Hey,” Zuko starts, uneasy and not sure why, “you know more than any of us, and _you_ didn’t try to—”

< I am not human, > the Andalite interrupts, shaking its head. < This is not my world. It is not my place to take leadership unless asked. >

“Yeah, so?” Zuko shifts his weight, and his host listens attentively, curious. It’s a _lie_ , he wants to take the time to tell it, more Andalite lies, as _if_ an Andalite would ever be humble like that or restrain itself from lording over a lesser species. 

< I know little of humans, > the Andalite says, tilting its head and looking down at Zuko with intense golden eyes that make his skin crawl. < I am trying to understand why you are not the prince when you are clearly best-suited for the position. >

Zuko laughs. He doesn’t mean to, but it escapes before he can stop it, and the Andalite gives him a quizzical look. 

< Did I say something funny? >

“Aang’s the leader,” his host says. “Aang _has_ to be the leader.” 

< I don’t underst— >

“Aang _has_ to be the leader,” his host repeats sharply, stiffening their posture and narrowing their eyes. The Andalite pauses for a moment, giving them a measuring look. Again, Zuko wonders how those eyes are _not_ warrior’s eyes. 

< But he is not a warrior. >

“Humans don’t need led by warriors,” his host says. “Humans need led by someone who’ll _stop_ them.” The Andalite blinks, and tips its head. 

< I don’t understand, > it says again. 

“You will,” Zuko’s host says, and inside its head it _aches_. Zuko takes control again very quietly, and soothes it down to sleep the same way he used to do with his last host. It’s not the same thing, really—Hork-Bajir are so _young_ in comparison to humans—but it works when his host lets it. 

The Andalite is still frowning, and Zuko wants it to go away. It upset his _host_. 

But of course, it has nowhere to go. 

Zuko doesn’t even know what to _do_ with that thought. 

.

.

.

"Eee. Eee." 

". . ."

". . . Leeeeeeeeee." 

" _Yes_ , already, you've fucking _got_ it!" Zuko’s host snaps, chucking their math notebook across the bus stop bench towards the Andalite's temporarily-human head, and Zuko sighs to himself and strokes the other's consciousness to quell his irritation. His host simmers, and hefts their _text_ book threateningly. 

Okay, so quelling his host doesn't always work as well as it could. But, well, he should've known better than to try and pull that off while the other was doing algebra anyway. 

"Should you be throwing your work around? Round," the Andalite asks doubtfully. "Rrrrround." 

"I will go buy you a _twelve-pack_ of Cinnabons _right now_ if you swear to God you'll shut up long enough for me to finish my homework," Zuko’s host says flatly, just glaring at him. 

"But Katara said I was not allowed to have cinnamon buns. Buns. Bunnnnz," Lu Te—the Andalite says, frowning back at him. "Not after _last_ time. Tiiimmme. Time!" 

"Yeah, well, Katara's not here and our wallet _is_ , so we got a deal or not?" Zuko’s host retorts, fishing it out of his pocket to wave pointedly. Zuko tries to soothe him down again, but algebra wins even against the threat of an angry human sister or a compromised cover. 

It's really distressing that _he's_ more concerned about the integrity of the Andalite's cover than either the human or the Andalite itself, Zuko thinks. 

Also Lee is teaching the Andalite _terrible_ habits.

.

.

.

< See, see, Vashta Nerada! Told you they were real! > Sokka crows gleefully, dancing away from the dust motes drifting through the sunlight, and Lu Ten drops into a wary crouch, baring sheepdog teeth at them. Which is hilarious and beautiful and oh God, Sokka _loves_ messing with the new guy on the planet. < Piranhas of the air—can strip a full-grown human to the bone in, like, two seconds flat. >

< I am _certain_ there is no such species, > Lu Ten says suspiciously, but doesn’t sound particularly certain about it. Sokka’s tail wags so hard he’s amazed it doesn’t cramp up. 

< C’mon, they’re right _there_! > he shoots back at the other, thoughtspeak still more gleeful as he prances a half-circle just out of reach of the dust motes, and Lu Ten slinks backwards stiffly, dog-body growling. < Chillax, man, they’re nocturnal. Only hunt in the shadows, remember? >

< Never letting you watch sci-fi with him _again_ , > Lee mutters from the back of the couch, curled up in a ridiculously small ball of fluff. Seriously, ninety percent of the time the guy’s cat morph is half Sokka’s size but the moment he decides he wants to bask in a sunbeam all cozy-posy, _bam_ , you could fit him in a teacup. 

< Awww, you’re no help, Lee, > Sokka complains, still unable to keep his tail from wagging. This may just be the most fun he’s ever had with an alien lifeform _ever_. Actually it _definitely_ is, since Lu Ten’s the only alien he’s ever hung out with without someone trying to fry him with a Dracon beam at some point. < Here I am trying to educate Lulu on the finer points of native Earth species and all you do is complain. >

< _Lulu?_ > Lee asks incredulously, lifting his head to stare over at him. 

< What, you don’t think it suits him? > Sokka asks cheerfully as he finally looks away from the glorious, glorious show that is Lu Ten squaring off against nonexistent microscopic carnivores. 

< He has a _scythe_ for a tail. A scythe the size of your _head_ , > Lee retorts, giving him a disdainful look like only a cat can. < No, I _don’t_ think it suits him. >

< Awww, but it’s— >

< Lee, behind you! Another pack is advancing! > Lu Ten yelps in alarm, tackling Lee off the couch and out of the way of an errant puff of dust. Lee shrieks in feline outrage, and Sokka bursts into laughter. 

Seriously. Most fun _ever_. 

< Did any of them get you?! Are you injured?! >

< Get the hell off me, _Lulu_. >

.

.

.

"I do not understand. Understaaaand. Why did you want me to morph?" Lu Ten asks, then pauses and adds, thoughtfully: "Muh-orf." 

"Because _that_ ," Lee retorts, eyeing him from the other side of the barn's worktable. They came here because, of the group's collective homes, the barn is the closest to Lu Ten's meadow and the easiest to escape from. Lu Ten knows this, of course, but he doesn't know _what_ they came here for. 

"Because what?" he asks, frowning in confusion. "Whut. Whaaaaaat." 

"The mouth issue," Lee clarifies with a sigh, leaning forward against the table. "I get it, yeah, it's _awesome_ trying on a new body and figuring everything out, but the—the babbling thing, with the syllables and the sounding-out and all that, and the _taste_ thing . . . that is _really_ noticeable. Like, people _remember_ people who act like that. Remember them really, reeeeally well." 

"Is it truly that noticeable? Bulllll?" Lu Ten asks as he frowns at the other again, this time with concern. Humans talked so much, after all; he hadn't thought they had that much time to _listen_. 

"Yeahhh, yeah it is," Lee replies, expression turning dubious as he pulls a small, slim book out of his bag. "So I was thinking we should maybe do something about that, get you more used to it and all. You know how sometimes when you get a _lot_ of something you like you get sick of it?" he asks, holding up the book for Lu Ten to see. Lu Ten frowns, and leans in close to peer at the cover—it still takes him a minute to understand written Human. Er—written _English_ Human, he means. 

"'1001 Tongue Twisters For Kids'?" he reads carefully, then gives the other a puzzled look. "I do not understand. Annnnd. Nnnnd." 

" _Trust_ me, you'll be sick of talking games by the time you're done," Lee reassures him dryly. 

"What about the taste?" Lu Ten asks with another frown, although he can't imagine being sick of _either_. "Aste. Taste." 

"There's twelve boxes of Cinnabon in the fridge. Believe me, I got it covered."

.

.

.

The bison is cool. Being big and strong and _sturdy_ like that, _unshakeable_ like that, that’s something Aang’s never felt before. 

But it’s the falcon that he falls in love with. The smallest bird of any of the ones the group acquires, and he’s the only one to choose it—Katara and Suki both picked the osprey, Toph wanted the bald eagle, and Lee’d already acquired the red-tailed hawk, and then later for Lu Ten it was the northern harrier.

And Sokka, of course, never got to pick anything. 

Aang feels so bad for him that he never got to fly. There’s nothing else that _perfect_. 

Really. 

There’s nothing. 

And if there is, he can’t even _begin_ to imagine what it would be. 

.

.

.

“Luh. Luh. Looooooo. Teh. Teh. Loo Teeeeeh. Ten!” 

Human speech is _difficult_. And complicated. Much more complicated than most other animals on Earth, although Lu Ten enjoys working out the sounds and functions of them too. Just not as much—humans rely so _enormously_ on the noises their mouths make to communicate, more than any other species Lu Ten has ever encountered. Tails, horns, the tilt of a head, the shift of body weight—every other species in the _galaxy_ seems to be more concerned with body language than the human race. 

And yet they have so much of it all the same. 

It’s very odd, and _enormously_ interesting. 

Not an appropriate interest for a warrior, perhaps, but when he’s human Lu Ten doesn’t mind that so much. They have such simple brains, such simple wants and desires—feed, move, mate, sleep, _live_!—all the usual basics, but so much sharper and clearer in a human’s mind than an Andalite’s. They’re closer to their animal roots, an intelligence that hasn’t aged or evolved quite as far. Closer to their instincts. 

Closer to their instincts, but above them all the same. 

“Loo. Loo. Loo Tennnnn.” 

The words vibrate in his throat, a funny little buzzing feeling like touching a machine. Human throats are _full_ of things—vocal cords, larynx, trachea, cartilage, muscles, spine, arteries; so much _stuff_ all crammed in so tight. 

Lu Ten looked it up in a book, one of the science books Aang and Katara brought him to keep himself busy while they were all in school and with their families. Most of it’s little-kid science or just completely _ridiculous_ , but the biology . . . oh, it’s _fascinating_ , all the things humans keep in their throats, the strength of the grip in their few-fingered hands, their unsteady two-legged forms and surprising sense of balance. Lu Ten could just eat up every biology book on this _planet_ , studying humans, studying the animals they evolved from, studying the animals they share their planet with. 

It’s . . . it’s slightly _amazing_ how much life there is on this planet. And by “slightly” he means . . . oh, there are planets that _dream_ of this kind of life. There are planets that would _kill_ for this kind of life. 

_His_ people, meanwhile, would just come here for the vacation of turning into so many different animals. 

It’s a nice thought—being able to take vacations, he means. 

That’s kind of what being human is like. 

“Loo. Loooo. Loooooooooo.” 

.

.

.

“Good boy, Warrior,” Suki croons as she drops into a crouch and scruffs Sokka behind the ears, and his tail thumps hard and fast against the ground as he leans into her. “Good _boy_ , yes, that’s my _boy_!” 

< The woman in red, with the golden retriever, > Sokka says, and Suki kisses his nose and coos baby-talk nonsense at him as her eyes flick towards said woman. < She’s the one—I can smell Hork-Bajir on her. >

Suki pulls her cell phone out of her pocket and texts Aang— _u c her?_

_we c. K and LT on tail,_ Aang texts back, and a pair of seagulls coast by overhead. Suki tucks away her phone and gives Sokka another affectionate scruff, then straightens up again and clips his leash back to his collar. The _last_ thing they need is to get a ticket for breaking the leash law; it’s hard enough to afford all the unexpected expenses of saving the world as it is. 

“Okay, boy, that’s enough park time!” she says brightly, heading for the sidewalk. Their part of the reconnaissance is over, which means their _date_ can start. “You wanna go get coffee at _Katy’s_ , huh? I know you _love_ Katy’s!” 

< Only if that damn Pekingnese isn’t there again, > Sokka replies grumpily as he trots after her. 

“Aw, but she _likes_ you, Warrior,” Suki teases, and Sokka shoots her the dog version of a disgruntled look. 

< And I’d like _her_ for a snack, but no one’ll let me! > he complains. 

“They’ve got dooog biscuits,” Suki sing-songs, grinning down at him in amusement and swinging his leash. She doesn’t worry about having one-sided conversations with Sokka—five minutes in any dog park’ll show half the people there doing the same thing, and anyway when the Yeerks are profiling suspicious behavior she’s pretty sure “baby talk” doesn’t cross their minds. 

< _Dog_ biscuits, > Sokka says in disgust, stopping to sniff at a lamppost. < That’s like eating a stale Chips Ahoy when there’s a double bacon burger sitting right in _front_ of you. >

“Maybe, but it’s still chocolate, right?” Suki asks with another grin, and Sokka pauses, then eyes her disgruntledly again. 

< Admittedly, you have a point. Except for how chocolate, you know, _kills dogs_. >

“You’re a tough guy, Warrior. You’d make it.” 

.

.

.

Suki is captain of the gymnastics team; her best events are the floor routine and the parallel bars, but really, there isn’t much she _doesn’t_ love about it. She’s very good. She’s the best on her team—and her team is a _very good_ team—and she’s never placed below the top three in any serious competition she’s been in. 

She has a cute boyfriend. A very silly, goofy boyfriend with a big stupid grin and awful jokes and strong arms that used to wrap around her so _tight_ and lift her off the floor she otherwise only left under her own power. 

Suki can do three backflips without missing a beat. Suki can do a front walkover without even thinking about it. Suki can vault, jump, flip, twist, spin, _leap_ like it’s nothing, like gravity is a _suggestion_. Suki can do a lot of things. 

Sokka _can’t_ do a lot of things. He’s still silly, still goofy, still makes awful jokes—but his big stupid grin isn’t the same big stupid grin, and his strong arms are gone and can’t wrap around her anymore. 

Sokka’s a big dog. Bigger than most, and his fur is thick and rough and his teeth are sharp and strong and he can _fight_. He looks more like a wolf than a dog, actually. Half a wolf, half a dog, and he looks so sweet and silly when he wants to play and so fierce and _vicious_ when he wants to fight. 

Good for fighting human-Controllers. A bison has to crush anything in its way, an elephant has to do the same, a leopard wants to be vicious, a hawk _has_ to be, and a bear can’t be _gentle_. 

Sokka, though. 

Sokka can be merciful in a fight. 

That’s something, Suki tells herself as she mounts the balance beam. It’s something. She steps forward, one foot at a time and easygraceful, and then she falls forward and her hands brace against the beam and her feet kick up over her head and then they hit the beam and her hands are free and then she flips and _twists_ and bends back and her hands grip the beam again just for a moment and then they’re off it again, she’s in the air, and it’s . . . it’s something. 

Her feet hit the beam. Her arms come up into the finishing pose of her routine. 

Sokka can’t hold her anymore. 

Sokka was always . . . Sokka was always the one to hold her. 

She takes a breath, and dismounts. Her coach is talking, and she nods like she’s listening, and thinks of Sokka. Her boyfriend. Her anchor. Her _lifeline_. 

When she did six months in juvie, he visited her every weekend. He visited her _every_ weekend and he never, ever touched another girl. 

He waited. 

He _waited_. 

The Andalites will come. They’ll have a way to help him. 

Suki can wait too. 

She can. 

She can wait. 

It’s the parallel bars next.

.

.

.

In battle, Aang is a bison. Toph is an elephant. Suki is a leopard. Lee is a hawk. 

Sokka is a wolfdog, of course. Sokka is always a wolfdog. 

And Katara . . . Katara’s a bear, lately. The first time she was a horse, but that wasn’t something she could fight in, not really, and a few times she’s been a wolf, but . . . but . . . 

She doesn’t like being a wolf. Not around Sokka. Morphing back and forth from that body right in _front_ of him, facing him able to understand canine body language down to the finest _detail_ . . . 

Katara is a bear, lately. 

.

.

.

< Let's do it, > Toph says fiercely, thoughtspeak sharp and harsh as she folds big bald eagle wings in against her sides and drops away from the others and into a dive. She hates the bird morphs—any morph that takes her off the ground, really, any morph that gives her eyes that _strong_ , she hates. Or sometimes just any morph that gives her eyes at all. 

She hates the bird morphs, but sure as _hell_ she loves hitting a Taxxon-Controller at eighty miles an hour and coming up with what's left of its disgusting head in her talons. 

At least, as much as any born-blind girl can love that kind of thing when she has to watch it in dizzying high-def.

.

.

.

< Toph, > Katara says gently, nosing into the fresh-dug burrow that she can smell the younger girl's badger morph all over. < Toph, I know you're in there. >

< Go away, > Toph mumbles. Her thoughtspeak is tired and wounded, and Katara can hear her claws scraping at the earth in an attempt to dig deeper into it. 

< I won't. Not when you're like this. >

< I don't need your _help_! > Toph snarls hotly. < I can take care of myself! I pull my own weight, and I don't need _babied_! >

< I know you don't need my help, Toph. I want you to have it anyway, > Katara replies quietly, and noses at the entrance of the burrow again. Toph makes a wuffling, snuffling sound that would probably be a sob if she were human, and Katara takes that as permission to dig up the burrow and pick her up in her mouth. Toph's not much smaller than a bear cub anyway, so it feels perfectly natural to her morph, and Toph just hangs limp in her grip, covering her eyes with her paws and still making those pathetic snuffling sounds. 

The bear wants to take her cub back to the safety of their territory and lick the dirt out of her fur and make it all better, and Katara figures that's as good a place to start as any.

.

.

.

< Running from lions is _never_ a mistake, > Sokka says practically, ducking behind Suki, who laughs and digs leopard-claws into the ground, her tail wagging threateningly at the approaching lionesses. They’re bigger cats than she is, but they’re also zoo cats, and she is _definitely_ not. 

< It is when the other choice is running _at_ Hork-Bajir, > she tells him, amused. 

< I’d _rather_ have the Hork-Bajir! > Sokka wails. 

< The Hork-Bajir have _Dracon_ beams, hon, > Suki reminds him, snickering again. 

< And yet, I am still not changing my opinion on this, > he shoots back. < Does that _tell_ you something? >

< That you’re not a cat person? >

< Babe, now you _know_ that’s not true. >

.

.

.

There is a human here. Mai Six Two Four can hear it—or heard it a moment ago, at least, and humans never stay still for long. 

They’re noisy things. 

Mai doesn’t like Earth. No matter where you go, there’s always _something_ to kill, and it’s never something interesting. She hasn’t had a good fight since she got here. Humans are weak, and soft, and so easy to break that you don’t even have to try: the first one she tried to restrain she accidentally eviscerated. 

She watched it die, and did not think about Zuko Five Three Three in such a fragile body. 

_(yes she did, she thought of nothing else. she THINKS of nothing else. her every thought is him, dead or dying._

_away from her, and inaccessible.)_

The human moves: it makes a noise. Something scraping, Mai thinks, metal or stone, and then punches through the wall between them. She absently listens for the scream as she grabs for it, intending the sound to direct said grab, but there isn’t one. 

Something hits the inside of her host’s elbow, and she draws her arm back curiously, puzzled by the odd sensation of the impact. There’s human blood on her host’s talons and, more importantly, a short knife stuck in her host’s skin, almost deep enough to penetrate it. 

She dips her head through the broken wall, tilts her host’s head, and listens. The human isn’t back here anymore, but wherever it is it isn’t making a sound. 

Mai didn’t even hear it run. 

She thinks of Zuko and his small soft host, wherever he is. 

She looks at the blood on her talons, and leaves without confirming the kill.

**Author's Note:**

> [Tumblr!](http://suzukiblu.tumblr.com/)


End file.
